The Edge of Glory
by Jessica L. Pearson
Summary: AU - New York - Mark/Teddy - Derek/Addison - Mark has just asked Teddy to marry him when he gets sick.  It affects all of them.
1. I Feel Like Dancin'

"Do I have to come to the store with you every time?" Mark asks teasingly with a laugh. He has the straps from 3 tote bags clutched in his hands and she's slipped her arm through his and is hugging close to him for warmth like it's his job and he likes to think that it is.

"How is 'surprise me' a sufficient food choice?" Teddy counters. She slips her hand into his coat pocket and gets his set of keys to unlock the SUV. She laughs a little as he pries his arm away from her grasp to put the bags in the back and knows that his comment about motorcycle weather is bound to fall from his lips next. "Besides," she adds, "maybe I like it when you go with me; it keeps all of the leers away because you're big and strong."

"Well," he smirks, closes the back end and she can see the flutter of the motorcycle comment flee from his eyes. He leans towards her a little, puts his fingertips on her elbow and lightly presses his lips against her cheek before guiding her to the passenger side of the vehicle to open the door for her. He keeps her from hopping up onto the seat with a gloved hand on her forearm; she sees his piercing blue eyes narrow for a moment and she gets a little confused. "Maybe you shouldn't be so pretty and people wouldn't stare."

"Please," she scoffs.

"Marry me," he says.

"What?"

"I want my life to be with you," he adds. He smiles, tilts his head as she quirks an eyebrow like she isn't sure she's hearing him correctly.

"It is with me," she reminds him.

"I've never asked anyone to marry me and I'd wanted it to be this grand and a cliche' gesture so you couldn't say no, but then I realized that people are jealous of what we have," he says. He watches carefully so she doesn't slip as she climbs up into the leather seat. She offers him a slight smile and presses a gloved hand against his chest as she presses her lips against his - a light kiss with a small smile. He adds, "And I think they should be."

"Yes," she finally answers, "I'll marry you."

(He remembers when he met the blonde. It was by chance, walking down a New York street with a cup of coffee in his hand, and he hadn't seen her. Not at first anyway. He wasn't watching where he was going and he bumped into her, the Styrofoam cup smashing between them and the liquid pouring down his leather jacket.

His eyes narrow angrily for a moment as he watches his fresh latte spill onto the ground before he lifts his gaze to his victim, and he forgets what he's scowling at. He forgets a lot in that moment - like how he thinks he's in love with his best friend's wife and how he's late on the first day of opening his own practice with said best friend. He feels himself smile and tilt his head as she halters in her step.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, fingers touching her elbow, "it was my fault."

"No, no, it was mine," she disagrees with a dismissing smile.

"You're crying," he observes. There's tear stains on her cheeks, eyes glazed over like she's fighting back tears, and he half steps towards her. He lets his hand hang in the air between them as concern for this stranger washes over him and he can't help what comes out of his mouth next. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't even know you," she counters.

"But you could," he responds, only a moment of hesitation. He offers her a smile like he can win her over and it isn't lost on him when she actually smiles back. He notices her eyes lift to his and he steps forward so he doesn't block as much of the sidewalk anymore; he extends a hand, "it's Mark, Mark Sloan."

"Teddy," she relents with a small smile as she takes his hand, "Altman.")

"So, last night," she ventures as he dries off from his shower, "was that a serious proposal or a caught in the moment proposal?"

"Both," he answers seriously. He watches her pull her dark blue jeans up her legs and he catches himself staring but he doesn't bother looking away. He thinks that as her future-husband, he gets to reserve the right to drool over her. He hesitantly lifts his eyes to hers and half smiles. "I had a plan but it turned out to just be the perfect moment to ask you. I just realized that I don't mind going everywhere with you and spending every second of every day with you is ideal."

"Is that so?" She teases. He drops his towel to the floor before she can even button her pants and his fingers are peeling her hand away from her waist. He pushes her against the bathroom counter top and presses his lips against hers, his tongue sliding over her lips. She pushes her palms against his chest and pushes him away for just a moment to mutter: "Why do you let me get pants on if you're just going to take them off?"

"That's the best part," he reveals.

He tugs at the hem of her pants and listens for the thick material to collide with the floor. Her fingers find the back of his neck as he hoists her on the edge, his nails scraping against her skin as he hungrily pulls her panties off. He grins as she meets his lips with her own again and it becomes a hurried rush of messy kisses, entangled fingers, and thrusts that claim her as his own.

"I love you, baby," he whispers through languid breaths. She's busy breathing deep, his body pressed against hers as they both catch their breath afterwards. Her fingers dig into his hips and she knows that she doesn't really mind when he tilts his head and smiles. He drops a kiss against her bare shoulder before she can lean back and peel herself away from him. "I have a ring, and you can't leave until you're wearing it."

He peels himself away and finds the ring somewhere in the other room, sliding the silver diamond ring onto her finger before he lets her leave for the hospital.

("Hey," Mark smirks at Derek as he walks through the door. Derek's eyes narrow at the stickiness of his business partner's leather jacket and purses his lips. Mark shrugs as he unzips his jacket. "I had a little accident."

"Oh, please don't tell me it involves a woman," Derek pleas.

"Yes, but," Mark interjects before his best friend can say anything; he tosses his jacket onto the couch just inside his office and leans against the door frame to Derek's, "it isn't like you think. I bumped into her outside of the coffee shop and there's something different about her."

Derek laughs, "aw, that's cute. You have a crush on a stranger."

"Her name is Teddy," Mark clarifies. Derek stops laughing because he knows that Mark doesn't usually bother with names, doesn't really care to. Mark grins and Derek thinks his eyes twinkle a little bit. "She's blonde, tall, pretty and there's just this air about her. It was nice, refreshing. Like Addison, but nicer."

"That isn't saying much," Derek quips.)

"Derek, I just think-"

"Addison, I don't think you're being fair about this," her husband counters. He pulls his t-shirt on over his head and glances at his wife as her fingers start to fluff his hair. He momentarily glares at her because he's tired of her trying to shape his hair in ways he just can't make them go, but relents as her fingers slide down the side of his face. "What's the matter with right now? We're not interns anymore, we're not residents, and me and Mark have the practice."

"Maybe we need to focus on our careers for just a while longer," she reasons. Her skirt is still unzipped around her waist so when she finally pulls her blouse on she can tuck the hem in, but she's distracted by her husband's attempt at conversation. She gives him the seal of approval when he finally looks away from the mirror to put on his light blue shirt and offer her a tensed jaw. "Look, I'm not saying I don't want kids with you, honey. I'm just saying that I'm trying to be a surgeon just as much as you are."

"You are a surgeon," he clarifies, "you're the best neonatal surgeon in the country. If you were to take a few months off to have a baby, no one would forget you. You're the best."

"Well, thank you," she acknowledges. She's careful to avoid rubbing the make up off of her face when she puts on her blouse and gives herself a once over in the mirror. She turns to see Derek struggling with his tie choice and she supplies him her opinion; naturally, he picks the other one just to be defiant, but he's still yet to catch on to the fact that she always picks the one she doesn't prefer because she knows his antics. "But I'm not sure I can waver on the baby thing just yet."

"Not sure?" He repeats; he knows he smiles when their eyes lock and works on the knot in his tie. "Well, that's a start."

She briefly kisses his cheek and she's out the door, already running late.

(She carefully eyes the names on the door to be sure she has the correct office, and she feels both nervous and relieved to see that she's at the right place. She pushes open the door and spots an aging receptionist behind the front desk. She takes a moment as the employee closes the call to falter, to consider turning around.

"Can I help you, miss?" The graying woman addresses.

"Oh, um, I'm here to see Mark Sloan," she says, practically stuttering. She's fairly certain the woman could hear hesitation in her voice and she wondered if the woman new right away that she wasn't a patient. The woman looks at her expectantly and she fills in the blanks, or assumes she's filling them out. "Uh, Teddy...Altman."

The woman rises from her desk and wraps lightly on the door to the right behind the cherry wood; "There's a miss Altman here to see you.")

"Wait just a second there, Missy," Addison suddenly says. Teddy has been chatting with her over a patient, a newborn baby girl who has a heart murmur, for nearly 10 minutes when the blonde turns to leave. She falters her step at the redhead's booming voice and glances at her friend over her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of Addison's fingers pushed into her hips like she's challenging Teddy and she immediately caves beneath her friend's harsh gaze. "Is that what I think it is?"

Addison closes the space between them, her heels clacking heavily on the tile beneath them and Teddy shifts from her left foot to her right foot.

"It's..." she trails off at the realization that she can't get anything passed Addison when her hand is being grasped by the other woman's. Teddy thinks Addison must have seen the diamond in the light and she swallows. A smile crosses her face and she knows the secret is out. "It's exactly what you think it is."

"When did this happen?" Addison's gaze is still lingering over the ring like she's looking for imperfections, and knowing Addison she probably is.

"Last night," Teddy admits.

"It's bigger than mine," Addison teases, "I'm jealous."

They both laugh quietly, knowing they'll definitely have time to catch up later because they're working on a case together.

("So, why were you crying?" Mark asks, again. He doesn't think she's going to tell him, but he doesn't think it hurts to ask. He just knows that there's a chance she'll tell him if he's persistent. He leans towards her a little, getting in her space while sitting beside her on a bench in Central Park. He swallows and shifts his gaze back to the fountain. "You don't have to tell me, but I always find that it makes you feel better when someone cares."

"How could you care? You don't even know me," she points out with a small smile.

He shrugs haphazardly, "that doesn't mean I don't care. I'm a very caring person."

She takes a sip of her coffee and watches the steam rise through the opening in his cup lid; she'd insisted that she buy him a fresh cup of coffee and he had requested a rain check because he was running late. The guilt wouldn't go away, the weight of the whole day on her shoulders.

She's impressed by him, impressed by the way he seems so sure of himself.

"I'm just not having the best day," she reluctantly admits. He just looks at her, urging her to continue because she hasn't given him enough to go off of. She shifts her gaze to her cup before finally looking at him, offering him a tight smile like he won't be concerned anymore. "It's my first day back to the city in about five years. It just isn't as easy as I thought it would be."

"Sometimes, that happens," he offers, "but if you ever need to vent or anything, I can listen. I'm a great listener."

"I don't," she just trails off. He leans towards her a little, his face mere inches away from hers, and he can feel her breath trail over his lips. He doesn't remember wanting to listen to someone, let alone a girl, talk just to talk - it always has to merit a purpose, but he does. He lightly presses his lips against hers, feeling her respond to his kiss. She suddenly pulls away and he's left stunned. "I have to go."

She's gone before he can stop her; he doesn't know where she works.)

Mark smirks at Teddy as she descends the stairs at Bellevue Hospital, his hands in his pockets as he waits at the bottom of the stairs for her. He can't really force himself to look away from her, a knee length navy dress gracing her features as she carefully takes each step in her black heels. She doesn't know where he's taking her and he refuses to tell her until he absolutely has to.

"Hey, beautiful," he says, "took you long enough to get ready. We're already late."

"Late for what? Exactly," she asks, like maybe he'll forget. He extends his hand for her to take, noticing her small grin as she accepts his hand when she's three steps away from the floor.

"Nice try," he says with a laugh. The heel of her shoe hits the floor and it momentarily reminds him of the last 2 years they've been together (or close to 2 years) and how they just stumbled into what they have now. He caves, a little and not as much as she would hope, and he smiles as she turns her body to his. "I'll give you a hint. Derek and Addison will be there."

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart, that's so helpful," she replies sarcastically. He laughs softly and rests his forehead against hers, letting himself be surrounded in her scent as the moisture from her lips collide with his. He slides his hands up her sides, smiling as he feels her arms wrap around his neck.

He teases her a bit more, "Anything for my baby."


	2. Harder to Breathe

"I can't believe they're all late," Addison grumbles as she looks at Derek's watch. He pries his wrist from her grasp so she can't obsess over the time any more because the other guests aren't really all that late, and he glances at her. He tilts his head as she starts to mess with her napkin and he covers her hand with his own. "We've been here for-"

"Five minutes," he finishes for her. He knows it's been a bit more time than that, but nothing that is a big deal. When she starts to become all anal retentive, he ignores all of the things she does that annoys him and lets her get away with it. He welcomes her fingers fluffing his hair and briefly wonders when they should revisit the baby conversation. "Just calm down. We can stand to be alone around each other for five more minutes. At least, I think we can."

"Of course," she relents. She leans a bit more against his shoulder as he tilts closer to her so he can kiss her. She smiles and pulls her hands back into her lap, but he doesn't let her keep her hand to herself long before he reaches for the one closest to him. She adds suggestively, "I know what we could do to celebrate."

"Oh, trust me, honey, we'll be doing plenty of celebrating tonight," he winks at her, "it isn't every day that we get to celebrate 5 years of marriage."

"You're right," she smiles, "we should just go home and-"

"Ditching us already?" Savvy asks with a smirk and a hip pop. Addison purses her lips like a deer caught in headlights and looks down to her drink, like the dark red wine will comfort her and save her from the embarrassment. "Sorry we're late, but we left late. Where's Mark and Teddy?"

"Teddy got held up at the hospital and Mark was waiting for her," Addison explains.

"Like a gentleman," Derek adds, "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Haha, very funny," Mark interjects. The whole table laughs as Mark pushes Teddy's seat beside Addison in and takes the seat between the blonde and Weiss. Mark smirks at the table, wondering what the hell has been said before they arrived, but figures he'll make them squirm that they were maybe a little preoccupied when they really weren't. He looks at Derek, warns, "you better watch it, buddy."

"Oh, please," Derek laughs.

("Whoa," he practically screams. His coffee is spilled all down his front for the second time that day and he looks up to see the culprit is the same woman. Instead of remaining pissed, his anger flees as he shakes his hand to get rid of the excess liquid. "Teddy?" He looks a little closer to see her name scrawled across the front of a white lab coat, "you work here?"

"Yeah, uh," she trails off. He only imagines what she's going to say. She points somewhere down the hallway and his gaze follows her fingers. "I-"

"About earlier," he interrupts softly. He reaches out and stops her from walking away; he swallows because he isn't used to the apologizing for making the moves on a woman. His eyes fall to the tile and he notices things about her he didn't notice before, things that if he keeps running into her he isn't going to forget. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything earlier. I just wanted to make you feel better. Thank you for, coming back and getting me the coffee. You didn't owe me anything."

"Well, now I owe you another coffee," she says with a small smile.

"How about we make it dinner instead?" He asks; he sees the reluctance on her face. She thinks she just can't say no anymore because he's made her forget everything about Manhattan that breaks her heart. She swallows, takes her eyes away from his piercing blue gaze. He adds, "so I can apologize."

"I think," she lightly nods her head, "I'd like that.")

"Did you know Mark proposed to Teddy last night?" Addison asks Derek as he closes the front door of the Brownstone behind them. She hears the door click locked behind her and ascends the stairs in the dark, Derek's footsteps behind her. "Did you know he was going to?"

"He's been talking about something cliche' but I told him girls hate cliche'," Derek informs her, "I didn't think it was going to be last night."

"What? Derek, we don't hate cliche'," she laughs quietly, "we always imagine something cliche' when we're little girls. We want roses and candles and sap."

"I didn't ask you like that," he respondes. He steps into the bedroom behind her and starts kicking off shoes and shrugging off coats so he can shed the suit he's been wearing all day. He laughs a little, but the laugh dies down at the sight of her unzipping her dress and revealing the cleavage she's been expertly hiding all night. "My proposal was a bit...simpler."

"We were interns," she reasons, "we barely had enough money to live off of."

Addison lightly presses her lips into her husband's, shortly feeling his lips part in response to her kiss. He feels her hands start to pull at his shirt and he quirks an eyebrow. She feels him brush up against her and she loses the strength in her knees, his fingers pushing into the base of her spine. One thing she loves about her husband is how he knows where all of her nerve endings are, not that she has anything to compare him to.

"I was thinking," he mutters; she pushes his shirt off of his shoulders and the crisp sound of his clothing hitting the floor disappears somewhere into the air. He swallows, leads her backwards to the bed, "that we could revisit the baby conversation."

"Seriously?" She asks. Her eyes widen and her hands push against his chest so he knows she isn't playing. She lightly shakes her head when he purses his lips and tilts his head at her. "Because I was kind of thinking we could have sex."

"We can do both," he retorts with a shrug.

"Very funny, Derek," she snorts, prying herself from his grasp, "but I think you killed the mood."

("Sorry about my indifference earlier," she offers as she sits back down in the seat across from him, back from the bathroom after dinner is completed. He reluctantly sits down across from her, only sitting when he's sure she's comfortable, and watches carefully as she tucks a blonde hair behind her ear. She half-heartedly smiles and scoots closer to the table, swallowing as she feels his eyes on her. "It's just new - my first day at Bellevue and I haven't been back for all but 2 days. It's just difficult to come back."

"I understand," he nods, "I'm sorry I kissed-"

"Stop apologizing for that," she insists. She smiles softly and drops her eyes from his, afraid to let her gaze linger on his for too long. She lightly shakes her head, "it was just a kiss."

"Hardly," he counters. She blushes a little as her eyes meet his again and he tilts his head in a little bit of concern. She wonders what he's thinking - he seems like the kind of guy who would just tell her.

"Where were you before?" She looks at him funny and he fills in the blanks, "earlier you said it was your first day back in 5 years. Where were you before?"

"Oh, um," she stutters a little bit, he notices, and his insecurities kick in, "I was in Iraq, in the Army."

"Oh," he acknowledges. He thinks he gets why she was crying: her first day back to New York City in 5 years, 5 years ago 9/11 happened. He can piece the two of them together and he feels a little guilty that everyone he knew then got out alive save a few random hookups that he really didn't know. "I knew people, too. My buddy's wife worked in one of the buildings, I could never figure out which, and she was running late that day."

She doesn't say anything, manages to keep the tears from forming in her eyes, too. He smiles, quietly laughs like he's embarrassed. She isn't used to normal human emotions, just used to quick military talk and being spoken to about war, death, and like one of the guys. She's fazed sensitivity out over the years.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I say more than I should," he finally mutters. His credit card makes it back to the table and he finds that he doesn't look twice at the waitress, which is something he'd do when out with any other woman. He feels like a sucker because he hasn't even known her for 24 hours and he's already forgetting things he used to thrive on. "Can I walk you home?"

"Yes," she answers. He walks her home, doesn't try to sneak in a kiss before she climbs the stairs; she kind of wishes he had.)

"You know what I want?"

"What?" He asks, her fingers entwined with his. She suggested that they walk back to the apartment rather than getting a cab, and there's 10 blocks down with 4 blocks left to go. He smirks as he glances at her while they keep walking, and she lifts her hand to wrap around his bicep. "Please don't tell me it's something like painting the walls pink or something like that."

"Shut up," she laughs softly, "I want to get married in October. It isn't too cold, but it isn't really hot either."

"October? So soon? That'll give us about 7 months to figure everything out," he says aloud. She wonders if he's asking her or himself, but she stutters in her step and stops at the corner of the sidewalk. He's a little alarmed when she slides her hand beneath his coat and he can feel her fingertips on his stomach. "You're not just teasing me, are you?"

"No, I mean, I want the wedding - the traditional church wedding with the preacher and the wedding guests and a wedding reception, everything that comes with the word wedding. But. more than anything, I want to be married to you," she says, "I've wanted to be married to you, but I wasn't sure that you wanted to be married to me."

"Why wouldn't I want to be married to you?"

"Because you never saw yourself settling down," she repeats his words from nearly a year before back to him. He kind of scowls at her for a moment and lets his gaze linger on her before he sucks in a breath. He always knew telling her the truth about that would come back and bite him in the ass some time.

"I didn't," he finally confirms, "until you. I wasn't really expecting you, but you were just what I needed for my life to make sense."

"So you're life makes sense now?" She teases.

"For almost 2 years," he replies with a cheesy grin. He lifts his hand and tucks her blonde locks waving in the night's wind behind her ear, the soft feel of his fingertips tickling her cheek. His arms encircle her, settling at the top of her back as her fingers trail across his waistline, and leans his forehead against hers - once again thankful that he can look her in the eye. "And hopefully for the rest of my life."

"We'll see," she replies with a smile, tilting her head. She leans towards him, covers his lips with her own, and feels the light response of his kiss that will linger on her lips for hours. He pulls away a little, cringing and making his nose scrunch a little on his face when there's a sharp pain just behind his eyes; he hopes it goes unnoticed, thinks she might be reeling enough that she doesn't see. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answers breathlessly. He feels a little like the air evaded his lungs, like he can't breathe, so he wavers a little when she pulls back. She thinks she sees his forehead line with sweat and it occurs to her that it really isn't warm enough for him to be that hot, so she lifts her wrist to his head. He grumbles a little because it's always been lost on him for a doctor to take care of a doctor. "Babe, stop, it's nothing. Let's just get home."

She concedes because he always wins out, and she feels him take her hand, practically dragging her home with a feigned smile.

(Mark doesn't hear her for days, calls her 3 or 4 times and she doesn't answer so he just leaves an openended message on her voicemail. Something along the lines of cliche and imperfect but he doesn't go out of his way to run into her. He remembers her saying something about sleeping in the spare bedroom at her brother's apartment for an indefinite amount of time and being a cardiothoracic surgeon at Bellevue, but he can't find it in himself to really seek her out without her at least returning his call.

Derek thinks he's being ridiculous. Addison teases him and says he must really like this girl. Mark tunes them both out, too busy watching his phone to see if it's still working.

On the fifth day, she finally calls him back. Says she's been caught up with family emergencies, 911 pages, and military discharge. He accepts her apology and pretends it never hurt his feelings that he didn't hear from her.

"Is everything all right?" He asks through the phone. He wishes he had a landline with a cord so he could busy his fingers. Instead, he's cracking peanut shells without any intentions to eat the prize.

"Yes," she replies, swallows like she has something to hide. She pushes her hair from her face like he can actually see her, a nervous habit, or maybe just a way to keep him interested - now isn't the time for a man in her life. "Some stuff happened."

"Anything I can do?" Derek laughs at him like it's abnormal to see him groveling. He doesn't blame his best friend; he glares anyway. Addison comes back from the bathroom with a narrowed gaze. "You know? To help?"

"Uh," she hesitates, afraid that she's leading him on; she knows she should cut ties and go her own way - one date has already been too much. She could really use a drink. "I could use a drink."

She has to remind herself to look before she leaps. "Very good," he says, and tells her where they are.)

"Addison," Derek whispers into the darkness. Her back is to him and he can't really see if she's asleep or not. She doesn't budge so he tries again. "Addie?"

He chuckles into the bellows of his throat at the realization that he's whispering so he doesn't disturb the very person he's attempting to rouse from sleep - funny how that's always lost on someone in the moment.

He scoots closer to her backside and slips his arm around her waist, fingers finding the gap beneath the CBGB shirt and her short shorts so they can brush against her stomach. He lightly presses his lips into the crevice of her neck, lingering somewhere on the slightly exposed skin as he pulls her hair off of her skin. He slips his hand up her torso, grazing her skin as his fingertips seek out her breast.

"Derek, what are you doing?" She mutters tiredly, voice sleep laden. He thinks she passed out somewhere around 2 hours ago, but he hasn't been able to sleep yet.

"I'm touching my wife," he states, as though it is completely obvious, and she supposes it probably is. She rolls over a little, coming eye to eye with him in the pitch, black darkness, and sighing tiredly. She stretches out and bites back a yawn; he grins at her a little when she doesn't say anything. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," she grumbles. She hesitantly rolls into him, his fingertips gliding across her breasts as she moves, and she slides her hand through his hair. She bites her bottom lip, getting lost as his hair shapes his face and she willfully appreciates the moment that her husband allows her to paint him however she pleases. "Won't you sleep, darling?"

"I can't. You're lying beside me and being beautiful," the words fall off of his lips as though he compliments her like so every day. He acknowledges that he doesn't, hates to admit that he isn't always the husband he appears or plans to be. "I find it excruciating to sleep without having you."

"Oh please. You won't quit spouting off quips about babies and careers long enough to think about anything else," she replies sarcastically.

"That isn't true. For the last 2 hours I've been thinking of the life we have together, the life I want us to have together - a beautiful little girl with red hair and brown eyes for us to call our own," he explains. She finds him very convincing when he really gets down to the basics, when he's vulnerable and fresh. She likes the way he's honest in the darkness of their bedroom, wonders why it can't be like that all of the time. "I see you, Addie, with newborns in the NICU and the way you light up around them. I think that could be us."

"You want it to be us?"

"More than anything," he responds. She swallows hard, crushes her mouth to his and lets her silver rings disappear into his black hair.


	3. Losing Touch

"You're going to be late," Teddy mutters quietly against his skin. Her lips drag across his shoulders as her fingers glide through his hair, her teeth gnashing against the side of his neck. He grumbles beneath her touch, hands blocking the sun from piercing his eyes as he attempts to gaze at her, but he gives up and buries his face back into the pillow. Her bottom lip juts out a little in response. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Migraine," he mumbles, "going in, just late."

"Are you sure?" She double checks, hands sliding across his back. Her voice is barely above a whisper in his ear, lips tickling the earlobe with every word, and he shudders beneath the mixture of her touch, her lips tickling his ear, and her breath trickling over his skin. She thinks she can feel his muscles spasm beneath her fingertips. "I can call Madelyn and let her know you won't be in today."

"No, don't do that," he groans. He forces himself to roll over and he thinks his bones creak and his muscles ache as he does. He reluctantly peels an eye open to glance at her and reaches up to grasp her wrist. "I'm going to sleep a little more, hopefully go in at lunch."

"Do I need to do anything before I leave?" Her fingers sweep across his forehead and he forces a smile onto his face.

"No, babe," he says tiredly, not even above a whisper, "you've done enough."

"I can stay home and take care of you," she offers. He appreciates it, but, again, has never understood the sentiment of a doctor taking care of a doctor; he just lightly shakes his head in response because he knows she'd rather not cater to his every need. He remembers a brief conversation they once had years ago about doctors being the worst patients. "Do me a favor, baby. Let me know if I can do anything."

"I will," he whispers. Her diamond ring scrapes against his skin as it catches on his forearm. She settles her hand on his chest and slides it over his skin, the soft feel of his skin making a small smile creep over her features - she soaks in the warmth, lets her eyebrows furrow as she's overcome with concern for him. He adds, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"It's my job to worry about you," she counters with a sly grin. He smiles too, squints his eyes shut tightly immediately after because the muscles in his face are starting to go numb. She leans down, plants a brief kiss on his lips before she bids him adeiu.

("Hey," he greets a little excited. Derek and Addison furrow their eyebrows in unison at Mark's excitement because it takes them off guard. It isn't like him to be thrown off by a woman. He pushes himself to his feet and offers the empty chair beside him, not paying attention to his best friends. "Want a drink? I can order one for you."

"Uh, yeah," she responds nervously. She wonders who these people at his table are, the ones with the eyes tracing her every movement like one wrong one she'll be judged. The redhead possessively drapes her arm over the man's shoulder and she wonders what they're thinking. "Just anything."

"Anything?" Addison pipes up. She lightly shakes her head and smirks at Teddy, her hand leaving her husband's stature for a brief moment just to prove her point. She laughs a little, nearly scoffs at Teddy's uneasiness and she immediately tries to take it back because she's really anything but rude. "You don't want just anything. Do not tell this man 'ianything/i'. He'll bring you back a Sex On the Beach or some naughty beverage. Always go with safe - stick with what you know."

"Agreed," Derek joins in. He motions at the sporadic drinks on the table, "for example, Mark and I stick with the scotch on the rocks if we want liquor and go with the Budweiser when we want beer. Addie here, she's predictable and picks a Martini every time."

"Not true!" Addison protests, "I had a Harvey Wallbanger once."

"Check that," Mark finally adds, "once," he shifts his gaze to Teddy, "you want me to surprise you? I'll order you a drink that you'll never forget."

"I suppose that would be fine," she reluctantly agrees. She hadn't been expecting a table full, but now that she's here with three pairs of eyes on her; she has nowhere to hide.)

Teddy swings by the apartment, a safe distance from the hospital but far enough away that there is peace and quiet on a random occasion, and expects him to be gone by the time she gets there. She's surprised when his leather jacket is still on the hook, but she doesn't want to call out for him because she's afraid to be so loud with his head pounding. She drops her keys onto the counter in the kitchen and makes her way to the bedroom.

She furrows her eyebrows when he isn't wrapped up in the biege organic sheets but isn't really anywhere in sight. She half mumbles to herself, something about sneaking a tracking device beneath his skin so he can't just disappear anymore, and steps more into the bedroom. She peeks around corners and narrows her gaze beyond the simplicities of the room and searches through the complexities.

"Mark!" She suddenly screeches. Her boots slam against the wood floor as she takes 3 big strides into the bathroom where he's laying on his side, a puddle of his own vomit beside his head. She's glad he at least has the good sense to keep from drowning in his own puke, and she crouches down beside him. Dragging her hand through his hair, she attempts to rouse him from sleep. She tries again with a shake, "Mark!"

His eyes peel open, but he immediately squints to block out the harshness of the rays from the sun. He lazily lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the light, peering up at her through hazy eyelids. She squeezes his face and shifts his jaw towards her, forcing his eyes into her direction.

"Look at me," she instructs. He blinks once, twice, three times and thinks he can finally make out her figure through the blur of his vision. He swallows to try to wet his mouth, but he feels like he doesn't have enough saliva. "What's going on?"

"You left," he tells her. He coughs a little and his hand flies to his head to try weaseling out the pain. He rests his head back on the tile floor, "I felt...sick, so I came in here."

"I don't think you made it," she jokes.

He smirks a little, glances at the floor beside him and feels guilty because he didn't actually make it like he thought he had. He absently rubs at his temple, trying to make the headache go away. "I'm sorry."

"I'm calling Madelyn - you're staying home," she says. He pushes himself to his feet and follows her back into the bedroom, nearly collapsing onto the bed before she can pull out her cell phone to dial his work. She glances at him as he peels off his dirty boxer briefs and crawls beneath the sheets, dropping the clothing to the floor - it will never cease to amaze her how a man will get naked to sleep when he doesn't feel well. "You have to tell me when it gets this bad."

"I know," he replies. She thinks she sees him shaking, but keeps telling his and Derek's assistant that Mark won't make it in. Once she hangs up the phone, she kicks her shoes off and sheds her jacket before she crawls into bed beside him. "You have to go back to work."

"Not when you're this sick," she counters. He accepts her answer when her arms wrap around him, and he's reminded of all of the reasons he wants to marry her when he finally drifts off to sleep.

(She wobbles a little outside of the apartment she shares with her brother, intoxicated from one too many drinks that she really lost track of at number 3. Somewhere between 1am and 2am, she lost track of time and Mark refused to let her walk home on her own. He's feeling the buzz, too, sobriety discarded somewhere before Derek and Addison could retire to their Brownstone.

"Oh, I am so drunk," she says suddenly, a small giggle attached to her words.

He chuckles a little too, wrapping his fingers around the stair rail to keep himself upright. His smile lingers as he watches her and he feels a little bit like an idiot because he knows he doesn't really want to say good night. "I'm feeling a little..."

"Intoxicated?" She supplies for him.

"Yes," he agrees, "drunk on...something."

He doesn't elaborate, leaves his words in the air for her to interpret however she pleases. He smiles at her as she leans a little more on her toes and it takes him a moment too long to register that she's falling; he doesn't realize it until her palms collide with his chest, leaving an ache of how she feels against him to linger behind. She laughs a little, covers her mouth with her long, slender fingers to stifle the noise.

"I'm sorry. I haven't drank in a really, really long time," she explains.

"You don't owe me an explanation," he insists. She doesn't move away and he doesn't encourage her to, just shifts his body a bit closer so his back is leaning against the rail instead. He's keeping them both stable and upright, he thinks - for once he's being the legs. "I should have stopped your alcohol intake."

"You couldn't have," she replies with the slightest shake of her head. She's careful not to shake her head too fast or too hard for fear that one or both of them would feel dizzy - her mind momentarily drifts to idon't dizzy up the girl/i. "I was too nervous and there was a cute boy looking at me."

"Still is," he says softly. His eyes are still on hers and he finds it extraordinary that they haven't traveled anywhere beyond that. He feels the corners of his lips tug upward and realizes he can't really take his eyes off of her. "What the lady wants, the lady gets."

She smiles a little, tilts her head, finds him charming - kind of like a checklist of things to do for the evening - and closes the little space that rests between them. She presses her lips against his, the lingering taste of scotch on his tongue to mix with a drink Addison had insisted she try before going home. The distinct burn of scotch seems to mix nicely with whatever flavor is left behind from the concoction she'd guzzled down.

She pulls away, his eyes still closed, and mutters "good night, Mark" against his lips.

"Good night, Teddy," he counters, but doesn't open his eyes until he hears the front door close behind her.)

Derek checks his phone for probably the 40th time that day and it isn't lost on his wife. She pulls her feet up beneath her on the couch and narrows her gaze at him through her glasses. He purses his lips together, briefly, and his tongue darts out across his disgruntled mouth like his impatience will get him answers. Addison understands where he's coming from because she's a bit concerned too, but they haven't approached the conversation just yet.

"Is something wrong, Derek?" She finally asks, realizing that he isn't going to say anything first.

"Have you heard from Mark today?"

"No, I haven't. I thought you said Teddy called Madelyn and said he was sick and wouldn't be in today," she repeats his information from earlier. It makes sense to her now why she never saw Teddy at the hospital after lunch but she doesn't have any details beyond that. She reaches across the couch and gently takes Derek's phone out of his hand. "He probably has the flu or something and Teddy's been taking care of him since she went home at lunch. Don't fret over watching your phone."

"She shouldn't have-"

"Mark wouldn't let her," the redhead insists, "you know that."

Derek nods begrudgingly because he idoes/i know Mark and he knows that his best friend rarely concedes to someone taking care of him. Even when they were kids Derek's mother had the most difficult time getting Mark to comply with her attempts at taking care of him. He watches his wife set his phone on the table in front of him and discard her book beside it so she can scoot a little closer.

"Sometimes I forget how hard headed he can be," he admits. She lifts a hand and rakes it through his hair as he mopes a bit longer; sometimes, she finds it repulsive how attached the two grown men are but then she's overloaded with concern herself so she tends to forget. A moment of silence passes between them before he grumbles, "I have work to do."

She releases a slightly exasperated breath as he disappears into his office and she realizes she has to deal with a pouty Derek for the remainder of the night.

("It was very nice meeting you last night," Addison says. Teddy wasn't expecting the redhead anywhere in her vicinity and her cheeks blush because she's insanely aware that she may or may not have said some things that were less than appropriate. She nods and swallows before she opens her mouth to say something, but Addison saves her the embarrassment. "Juju?"

It's only then that the blonde notices a second cup in Addison's hand as she extends it in her direction, she concedes and accepts the steaming cup from her. "It smells lovely." Her nose contorts at how proper she sounds and she wonders if she feels like she has to compete for Addison's approval.

"You don't have to do that," Addison responds, falls into step beside Teddy. Teddy purses her lips and glances at her over her shoulder as if she's asking what the redhead means. "Mark seems pretty enamored by you."

"Oh, um, I," she stutters, can't figure out how to respond.

"No need to explain," Addison interrupts, lifting a hand to instruct her to stop, "all I'm saying is that we've seen him be a pretty decent womanizer and all of a sudden, he knows your name. It's like he has clarity."

Teddy opens her mouth to respond, finds the words lost on her, and feels relief when her pager goes off.)

"You need to lay down," Teddy instructs with a small smile, finger pushing into his chest as he leans back against the headboard.

"I've been laying down all day," he replies. He grabs for her waist and pulls her into him, her shoulder touching his chest and ass settling between his legs. He woke up about 45 minutes ago and took a shower and now has clean clothes on, trying to keep from having to stay laying bed any longer. She giggles a little as her hands cover his forearms, his chin pushing into her shoulder. "I'm feeling much better."

"You've been vomiting all day, baby, and your head has been pounding," she reasons. His teeth nip at her skin like he's trying to distract her. "You need rest."

"I'm feeling perfect now," he replies teasingly, "why won't you just let me do something to show you my appreciation?"

"Oh, yes," she starts. Her fingers tap against his skin as she shifts in his arms. She tightens her jaw and playfully rolls her eyes when his hand skims down her chest, and he thinks he might be able to win her over. "Obviously when you're fatigued and the doctor puts you on bed rest, she really means sex."

"In my wildest dreams," he smirks, "come on. I'm feeling so much better. Let me prove it to you."

"Today, I saw things happen to you that I've never seen before, and as attractive as it was," she responds, words dripping with sarcasm, "I don't think you're going to be getting it out of me today."

"You won't even let me try," he whines. She twists in his arms, facing him as she slides off of his lap until her feet hit the floor. He tilts his head at her moving away, pouts a little when she isn't within his grasp. He slinks down in the bed so she doesn't glare at him anymore. He concedes, "fine, the doctor says bed rest."

"Yes," she softens. She tucks a hair behind her ear as she starts to gather all of the dirty clothes off of the floor to put in the hamper.

"Unfortunately, in this house, the doctor has to stay in bed with the patient."

"How lucky for you," she smirks. She puts all of the dirty laundry away and crawls into bed with him, letting him wrap his arms around her torso as he pleases.


	4. Hang Me Up to Dry

Derek half smirks as he peels the clothing from his wife's body, tossing it onto the floor in a hurry as she arches into his touch. He grunts when she wraps her hand around his erection, a sly grin spreading across her features, and lets his fingertips linger at the back of her thigh. He pushes his hand up her body, palm shaping her ass as her hand tugs at his dick.

"Mmhmm," he grumbles. He covers her lips with his and positions them so he's on top of her, poised and ready between her legs. There's a certain urgency that rests between them, something that makes them skip the foreplay and go straight to the point. She feels his lips trail over the hollows of her throat and she thinks she can feel her stomach brush against his as her body automatically arches into him.

"Derek?" She begs, and he quickly complies. He pushes himself into her wet opening, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly in response, and her fingers scrape across his shoulder blades. He groans, bites down on her clavicle as he thrusts into her. He releases a breath against her skin, a gust of cold air making a chill creep up her spine. "Oh, god, faster."

"Yes," he grunts in response. He follows her command, thrusts faster and harder like he can feel her from the inside. He thinks the tip of his penis rubs against her ribbed walls, thinks it makes him shudder a little as he slips his hand between them and digs his fingers into her clit. A trick Mark suggested back in college that he found actually works - as awkward as sex talk can be with Mark, his advice never fails, never. "I'm gonna-"

"Me too," she interrupts, silences him from any more words by pressing her nails into the back of his neck and lifting so her lips can meet his.

Her heels find the back of his calves, dip more into his muscles as she meets his thrusts. A breath more and then a scream that manages to find it's way out of both of their mouths. Her head rolls back on her neck, meets the wall headboard behind them, and they gasp for breath in unison.

He drops a lethargic kiss against her skin, collapsing against her and rolling off of her onto his side.

"Think we just made a baby?" He wonders aloud.

"Are we ready?" She counters. She wants one, has always wanted one, especially with Derek by her side, but the idea alone scares her if she really has time to stop and think about it. She looks at her parents and feels shame, is scared that she'll be them and never forgets how Derek grew up without a father. "I mean, raising a human being is a big deal. Can we do it?"

"Of course," he grins, "no one is ever really ready, but it's something that we'll just have to adjust to. You know that, Addie."

She tilts her head away from him, glances out the window and notices the extra bright glow of the street light. She feels herself actually hoping that they really did just make a baby whether she's ready or not. She's in trouble either way because now her hopes are up.

("Addison said-" Teddy starts.

"Addison says a lot," Mark interrupts, deadpanned. He swallows and pushes his fingers against her jaw to make her look at him because she's been avoiding him for days. He didn't notice it right away, noticed that she would see him and walk a little faster, but he'd get caught by the emergency that called him to the hospital in the first place. Their eyes lock; "but she doesn't always know what she's saying."

"I believe she called you a womanizer," the blonde says. She protectively crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"She doesn't know anything," he says. Maybe Addison would have been right before he ran into Teddy on the street, but his best friend's wife doesn't know everything about him anymore. To be honest, neither her nor Derek have bother to ask. He continues, "her nor Derek really know what they're talking about when it comes to you. They like you, they really do - they're just difficult to figure out, but that doesn't mean either of them have bothered to ask me how I feel or what I want."

"Fine, I'll bite. What do you want, Mark?"

He pushes his fingers through her hair, tucking the blonde wisps behind her ear and out of her eyes. "I want this to go somewhere. I like spending time with you. I want you to know that I made mistakes because it didn't feel right before, but it feels right now. It's just like you show up right when I need you and I can't stop thinking about you."

"That isn't fair, Mark. You don't really know me," she replies. She lightly shakes her head, swats his hand away from her because she's finding it hard to think straight. He doesn't smile, just pouts a little because he's dejected that she isn't hearing him out. Typically, he'd shrug and cut his ties like he doesn't have feelings to hurt. "How can you expect me to stand here and be okay with you and your lifestyle?"

"You don't have to be, but if you give it a chance, it won't be my lifestyle anymore.")

Teddy's climbing the stairs searching for her keys so she can get into the apartment when she nearly trips over him sitting on the stairs. She narrows her eyes at Mark just to be sure she isn't just seeing things before she drops her bag onto the stair behind him and leans at him. "Mark, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he tells her. He lifts his head off of the wall and looks at her, his eyes glazed over and smile tired. He reaches over and slips his arm over her shoulders like he's glad she's there and she doesn't completely understand what's going on. "I just needed a break, was feeling a little tired."

"You should have taken the elevator, baby," she tells him. He half scowls but the muscles in his face don't seem to comply the way he wants them to so he gives up. She cups his face in her hands and forces him to keep his head up, his eyes trained on her. "This isn't normal, Mark. What's going on?"

"Nothing, just not getting enough sleep, I guess."

"You're getting a solid 8 hours every night," she points out. He shrugs and uses the hand rail to pull himself into a standing position, probably leaning a little too much on her shoulder but she doesn't say anything. He feels her hand slide into his and entwine with his fingers - it prompts him to lean more on the rail. "There's only one more flight of stairs - please take the elevator if this happens again."

"Can we just get inside?" He asks. She can hear the irritation in his voice and she lets it slide. They're on the 5th floor and already so close to home; she can hear his shoes nearly plow through each step they take. They get to the top and he hands her his keys so she doesn't have to dig through her bag and he leans against the door frame beside her. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what's going with me right now."

"Maybe you should just stay home tomorrow," she suggests. He rolls his eyes a little but when she looks at him pointedly he lifts his hands up to demonstrate his surrender. The metal of the key crunches in the lock and clicks loudly, a small echo erupting throughout the hallway. "If you're having a hard time make it up five flights of stairs...I'll give you a listen when we get inside."

"I can't stay home tomorrow, I didn't make it to work a few days ago and I'm already behind on surgeries and consults this week," he mutters. He follows her inside the apartment and barely shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders before he falls back onto the couch. "I just..."

"You just what, baby? Look like shit? I hate to be so forward but this isn't normal-"

"So you keep saying," he mumbles.

"Stop being like that. You have a bitchy attitude over your health and this isn't something to be taken lightly, Mark," she drops her bag to the floor and hangs her coat on the hook before picking his up off of the floor and doing the same thing. She pushes her hand through her hair as she crouches down and digs through her bag for her stethoscope. She makes her way over to the couch and plugs her ears, listening intently to his breathing - a few minutes pass and nothing is making sense. "You're perfect, love. Heart beat is strong, lungs are clear - I don't know what's going on."

"That makes two of us," he says, barely audible.

(He thinks he sees her smiling over the rim of her coffee cup and it takes everything in him not to point out that isee? she can have a good time/i. She takes a sip of her drink and sets the cup down on the table between them as he gazes at her. She bites her bottom lip as though she is trying not to be crept out by the silence.

"You never told me what you want," Mark finally says.

She looks down at the table before hesitantly lifting her eyes back to his. "All I wanted was to come back home. I didn't have any plans beyond that. I live with my brother because he's my only family left and he wasn't ready for me to re-enlist, so he asked me to stay. Sometimes, I see the regret in his eyes because the last 3 weeks, he's waken up in the middle of the night to me screaming twelve times. I don't have any plans because I can't trust myself."

"You can trust me," he insists. Her gaze drops from his, finds a ring on the table that she can trace with her fingertips, and there's a pang in his chest when he sees the doubt. He leans forward and reaches across the table so he can lift her eyes back to his. "I know you don't believe it now, but you can."

She sighs in defeat, "Can we go back to your place?")

"Hey," he whispers hoarsely into the darkness. He glances at the digital clock and discovers that it's the middle of the night while he reaches out just in time to capture her by the wrist. He scoots a little closer to her side of the bed where he's been lingering all night and keeps a hold over her arm. "where are you going?"

"I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake you," she tells him. She's still in the bed, not really far enough out of it to be away from him at all, and she leans a little bit closer to him. His fingers slide up her arm and trail back down like they're searching for the hem of her sleeve because he forgot what she was wearing to bed - a tank top and a pair of short shorts. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't," he retorts with a snort, "I feel well rested and am wide awake. If you're getting out of bed I'm coming with you."

"I just didn't want to disturb you. If you want me to stay, I'll stay."

"Of course I want you to stay," he says with the slightest of scoffs. He can see the light from the moon meet her engagement ring and he grins a little at how he's the first to stake claim and then he quirks an eyebrow. He sees her shiver a little and pulls her closer to him in an attempt to warm her up. He coughs a little, feels a brief and sharp pain in his head. "Why do you want to take care of me?"

"Because you took care of me," she answers seriously. He smiles sheepishly and she almost thinks she can see a blush touch his cheeks in the darkness.

She lifts her hand to his cheek and drags her fingertips along his stubble like things will start to make sense, like he'll feel better. He tilts his head a little, watches her tongue absently slide over her lips, and he feels his dick react to her unconscious movement. He lifts his shoulders from the bed and pushes his hand up her spine as his lips touch hers. She feels his tongue dart out against her bottom lip, requesting entrance into her mouth as he peels his own lips apart. Her tongue touches his lightly, meets him halfway, and her nails leave marks on his shoulders as she straddles his waist.

Her hands slide up his arms, thumbs pressing into his biceps, before finding his hands with her own - her fingers entwining with his. She pushes her breasts against his chest, and he peels his eye open to peek down her shirt, knowing that she doesn't have a bra on. He grins a little against her lips, steals his hand from her grasp to trail down her chest and pay a little extra attention to her cleavage. She smirks, teeth nipping at his jaw, and tongue swirling over the hollows of his throat while circling his Adam's Apple.

She feels his hand tug at her shirt, peel it from her skin and reveal her breasts to the room. He loses his train of thought as her tongue drags over his clavicle, leaving a trail of saliva along his skin. She leans up enough to help him pull her shirt off, his hand immediately finding hers again, and he kisses her again. His tongue dips into her mouth, sliding against hers.

His fingers push at the waistband of the clothing hanging at her hips, skipping over her hip bone as she smoothes her pelvic bone over his erection. He grunts in response, feels himself respond by pushing himself harder against her, and he feels her nipples rub against his pecks. She releases a breath as he pushes her clothing off of her body and she helps him the rest of the way, his hand immediately delving into her hair and the curls tickling her skin.

He kisses her hungrily, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, his fingers with the roots of her hair wrapped around them, and she moans softly into his mouth. She reaches between them, releases the constriction around his waist rubbing against his hard on, and slides her body against his. He pushes two fingers into her opening, feeling her wetness and inhaling against her lips.

She moves, just a little, enough to pull his fingers out of her and he thinks he gets the wordless request. He nips at the corner of her mouth as he slides into her, his fingertips shaky against her skin as his thumb circles her breast. She feels his lips trail along her neck, tongue swirl against the hollows of her throat, and when she swallows she can feel the pressure from his tongue.

"Baby," she whispers.

His tongue trails up her neck, and his lips tug on her earlobe. "Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he replies. His hands skate over her arms as he reaches for her hands, fingers sliding between hers. He offers her a slight smile and pulls her towards him, his cheek sliding against hers until his lips are millimeters from her ear. He adds in a breath, "thank you."

She doesn't say anything because she understands the implication of his appreciation, just rolls her hips against his until he thrusts. It doesn't take long after all the kissing, biting, tongues colliding, roaming hands, and silent understandings between them - just resorts to muffled moans and languid breaths as they seem to come at the same time. Slowly, reluctantly, tiredly, she disentangles her body from his - only moments pass before he curls around her.

His fingertips are sliding down her face when she falls asleep, doesn't question him anymore about how he's feeling.


	5. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

Mark's head pounds like it did a few days before - unrelenting and in sporadic places, but mostly his eyes ache. He's careful not to move too quickly so he doesn't alarm her, doesn't rouse her from sleep because he knows where that could lead. It'll start with questioning and then lead to another round of how it isn't normal. He slides his hand up her torso, accidentally grazing her breasts like it's second nature, and pulls his hand from her body.

He rolls over onto his back, his arm stretching out across the remainder of the bed because he's somehow sleeping in the dead center of the mattress, and pushes his fingers against his temple with his other hand. He rubs circles, starting out small and light, like he can maybe drive the pain away. He squeezes his eyes shut until a drop of salty water slips out from the corner of his eye and it makes him briefly wonder if he's crying or if he's just...squeezing his eyes that tight. He doesn't allow himself to think it's the former.

He thinks it's no big deal, the headaches and the lethargy - nothing that some routine antibiotics can cure and he'll just have Derek write him a prescription in the morning. He swallows, starts listing off his symptoms in his head: iheadaches, vomiting, blurred vision, weakness/i. He glances at Teddy to his side, hair circling her head like a halo, hand tucked beneath her pillow, and lips pursed tightly together. He can't tell her, he can't really tell her much of anything without her thinking the worst, not about this.

He shifts his gaze back to the ceiling, eyes following the blades of the fan as they whirl in an awkward circle. He's never noticed how disproportioned the fan seems to be placed on the ceiling.

He releases an exasperated breath and shakes his head, scooting further from the center of the bed and closer to the empty side. He shivers a little because the sheets are cold, slipping out from beneath the sheets. He sneaks off to the bathroom in an attempt to shake off the headache - maybe to take a leak.

(He pushes the key into the lock and twists, a distinct click alerting him that he can now get into the apartment. His hands are shaking maybe even sweating a little when he can feel her hand lightly touch his forearm like a reminder that she's right there waiting for him to show her everything inside of him. He swallows as he pushes the door open, grasping on to the door knob for strength and maybe even confidence.

He didn't ask her why she wanted to go back to his apartment and, to be honest, at this point he's kind of afraid to.

"This is," he stutters a little, swallows to remove the excess saliva from his mouth, "this is where I live."

"I just assumed you lived alone," she says. He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head, looking at her in confusion because he doesn't really understand what she means. He closes the door behind them, motions for her to sit anywhere she pleases. She smiles apologetically, "I wanted to be able to have a private conversation and since I live with my brother..."

"Yours wasn't the best option?" He finishes for her. She nods a little and he follows her to the couch, a fairly new and untouched leather material that doesn't seem to stick to the skin. He smiles, sits down beside her like she has the best idea. "I understand. I just thought it was a little ... because first you didn't want to really have anything to do with me, next thing I know we're coming here."

"I'm just confused. It's a very confusing time in my life," she reveals, making excuses for her behavior, "the truth is that when I came back to New York City, it was so I could try to get my life back on track and have my life be about something other than war, because my brother wanted me to be with family. He's beginning to realize what a real piece of work I am. He didn't understand my reasons for joining the Army in the first place and I don't think he ever will. I just remember him distinctly telling me 'this is somebody else's fight' like those weren't our people that died. I wasn't looking for anyone or anything, just looking for something other than watching people die for trying to fight the good fight."

"I don't think I have the balls to do what you did," Mark admits. She laughs a little, tucks her head down to she can hide her embarrassment. He can't help himself, can't keep his hand from reaching out and pushing her hair out of her face as his thumb tilts her chin upward. "Truth?" He opens; she answers with a quick nod, "Addison was right. I am a fairly decent womanizer. I like my cappuccinos bone dry because I'm spoiled. I take everything with a grain of salt. And people, beyond Derek and Addison, don't matter to me. But I haven't lied to you and I haven't stopped thinking about YOU since I saw you - I don't think I've noticed anyone else. I didn't care about names or faces, but all of a sudden I'm like a real person."

"This is all new to me. I'm not used to being seen as anything, really, just one of the guys and that doesn't scare me. What scares me is that my head isn't straight, my head still takes me back to a place of blood and gore and," she hesitates, feels her eyes narrow sheepishly, "Owen Hunt. I wake up screaming and crying and sometimes I can't even remember why. How am I supposed to just let someone new in? You've been very nice to me, but how can I trust you?"

"You just do," he replies softly. He pushes his arm along the back of the couch, his fingertips contacting her shoulder, and he feels her body lean into his touch. He purses his lips together, finds himself wanting to say words he's never wanted to say before. He swallows, goes for it: "I know it all sounds crazy, but you're good for me. Maybe I can be good for you, too."

She smiles a little, helps him close the space between them until their lips touch.)

"You don't have to be so evil, Addison," Derek teases. He pushes his elbow against hers and laughs a little when she smirks.

She shrugs, grabs her glass of red wine, "well, you know. He kept crying, 'it isn't fair, I never get to scrub in' and proceeded to pout in front of the patient and her husband. I put him on suction duty and scut until his fingers bleed."

"Who taught you everything you know, darling?" Nancy asks with a laugh. Derek's always been thrilled with how close his wife is to his sisters, but there's an occasional annoyance with how he always gets manhandled in conversations. "You're brilliant!"

"Clearly," Addison quips. She motions to her husband as he stands to his feet and clears the table of half eaten food and empty plates. He smiles as he puts them on the counter - "I may be a bit evil, too. What can I say? Adulthood doesn't really mean anything when you have the power."

"So true," Nancy agrees. She shifts her gaze to her brother as he pours more wine into the glasses in front of the two women, enthralled with their banter. He thinks he could write a comedic skit with all of the one liners passed between his wife and his sisters, particularly when she's with Nancy or Amelia. "And you, dear brother? How is that practice of yours? And your business partner? Haven't seen much of him since he brought that lovely woman to Christmas."

"The practice is thriving and the business partner is surviving. However," Derek adds as he sits back in the seat beside his wife, "he did ask her to marry him."

"So this isn't just a phase?" Nancy teases. "Damn shame. I could use a little bit of a cleanser since Chuck finally moved out."

"Nancy!" Derek replies immediately, appalled, "how dare you? That's disgusting."

"Oh, please, brother - I have needs just like any other woman," Nancy says. She smirks a little, gets her little heart dead set on grossing her brother out like he did when they were children. "Do you think they'd be interested in company during their nightly rounds?"

"Joke too far," Derek replies. He shakes his head and drops his eyes to the table, too embarrassed to match her gaze with his. He swallows and finally finds the courage to look at his wife who just has a small smirk on her lips.

"Yes," Addison chimes in, no one can really tell if she's agreeing with anyone so no one asks, "I have a surgery in the morning."

"Anything good?" Nancy asks as she checks her watch.

"I could always use an extra pair of brilliant hands, if you're free," Addison offers.

Nancy smiles, pushes herself to her feet and drinks the entire glass of wine in one gulp - "I'm in."

(He likes her because her fingernails are painted black and she doesn't obsess over them when the paint starts to chip off. He hasn't been able to take his eyes off of the way her fingers articulate things he doesn't typically understand, the way she hesitates when she tells him something else that no one knows. He sometimes tells her things he once thought he'd forgotten.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous," she says, barely above a whisper, "but Aaron is going out of town today and I'm not sure I can be alone tonight. Would you keep me company?"

He smiles, leans towards her and sets the cup of coffee down on the table in front of them. "I'd love to."

"I," she feels herself pause, afraid of saying too much. She wants to tell him she likes him, that she's scared because her mind keeps taking her back to a time she can't remember, that she feels like something isn't right when she's alone. Instead, she keeps it simple and mutters a, "I appreciate it," with a tired breath.

"You know, if you ever want a place to stay, my door is open," he tells her.)

"You know, Derek, we do have an assistant for a reason," Mark quips. His hands are in his pockets and the line is barely moving, so Mark is mostly rocking back and forth on his toes like he needs something to keep him busy. He's starting to feel tired, feel like he needs to sit down, but there's still about 10 people in line ahead of them. "So we don't have to stand in long lines practically going nowhere for half an hour."

"What the hell happened to you? Won't even stand in your own lines anymore," Derek laughs. He shakes his head and lets his arms hang loosely at his sides. If he's honest, he's getting a little irritable, too, ready to skip the lines and go on to the coffee. Derek thinks the coffee isn't even that good but he knows how much Mark likes it. "Geez."

"It's tiring," Mark supplies. He releases a slightly exasperated breath, brings himself to force a smile onto his face when he catches Derek looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. He doesn't want to stand in line anymore, doesn't think he has enough energy to bear it. "Let's just go."

"What? No, you love their coffee," Derek says. Mark knows he's trying to be nice, but he really can't help himself.

"Let's just fucking go," he snarls through gritted teeth, "I don't want to be standing in this line. It isn't worth it."

"What's with you?" Derek questions, his eyes looking over at Mark with disdain.

"Just haven't been feeling well. I need you to write me a prescription of amoxicillin, I think I'm getting a sinus infection."

"There's a proper way to get antibiotics," Derek challenges.

"I don't have time," Mark wavers, "I've missed so many days already that I'm behind."

"Yeah," Derek reluctantly agrees, drags a hand through his hair as his lips twist upward. He can see Mark's face go into an upheaval and he doesn't really know what's going on with his friend, but he lightly nods his head. Mark's discomfort gets to Derek as he notices Mark leaning heavily against a chair beside them.

("Where are you going?" He asks into the darkness, a light glow from the street light outside of his bedroom window. It didn't take much for her to suggest they stay at his apartment rather than hers, but as time has passed and they've both been laying there wide awake pretending to be asleep, she's beginning to see how ridiculous this really is. She hasn't slept in the same bad as someone else for years and, even more than that, they haven't established a relationship or even had sex yet.

She laughs quietly when she jumps at the sound of his voice; of course he's awake. "I'm..." she trails off, keeping her hands close to her chest and wavering in blank floor space between the bedroom door and the bathroom door, "this is ridiculous, Mark, I'm a grown woman and I can't sleep in a house by myself - I had bullets whizzing by head for 5 years and I can't sleep in silence anymore, which is so fucking pathetic and I barely know you and I'm asking you to stay with me like I need a babysitter, but what's even worse is that I can't fall asleep because I'm afraid I might wake us both up from me screaming in the middle of the night."

"First of all," he says, positioning himself upright and sitting on the side of the bed. He watches her fold her arms in front of her chest like she's trying to block herself from vulnerability. He doesn't think he blames her. "I don't think it's ridiculous or pathetic or any of those other words that are correlated to them. I think it's sad that you're afraid to fall asleep because there's a fifty percent chance you'll wake up screaming, but I don't feel sorry for you."

"And second?"

"Second," he repeats, pushing himself to his feet and closing the space between them. He pries her hands off of her arms and forces her to uncross her arms, not really caring about where her hands land. He pushes his hand into her hair, a motion that will eventually be repeated countless times, and offers her a slight smile. "You're cute when you ramble," she tries to shrug him off, but he doesn't let her, "seriously, you are, with your fingernails painted black and my t-shirt on like you belong here. Just because you might be a little bit crazy doesn't mean you don't belong. And-"

"Mark?"

"Yeah?" He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Stop talking," she says, quirked eyebrow and index finger settling over his lips.

They share a look, a habitual look that makes him edge a little closer to her. She slowly pulls her finger from his lips, replacing it with her own slightly moist lips, and her hands find a place at his sides. She feels his hands push and pull at her hair, almost at the same time, and it prompts her to moan into his mouth; she can't control her hands when they push his flannel pajama pants and boxer-briefs off of his hips.)

"Hey, you okay?" She asks, barely above a whisper. Her hand skates over his back like she's careful not to disturb him when really all he can do is fight to stay awake. She crouches down beside him as he lays sprawled across the couch, her hand coming to a still on his back as she pushes her hand through his hair. "You barely made it through dinner."

"Yeah, just cold," he replies with a yawn. She smiles haphazardly, black fingernails tickling his skin and her watch from her left wrist nearly catching in his hair. He feels bad, like he has her backed into a corner that she has to take care of him whether she wanted to or not. He mumbles, "keep me warm."

"How about I get you a blanket?" She suggests.

He pouts and lifts his hands up to catch her forearms so she doesn't go anywhere. He adds a light shake of his head in protest, careful not to rattle his head too much. "Hey, woman, I asked you to marry me so that means if I want you to lay here and keep me warm it's because I want you by me."

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, "this isn't about warmth is it?" He lightly shakes his head and opens his arms wide for her, letting her settle against him before he throws his arms all the way around her. Her forehead presses against his jaw and her hand rests on his chest, and she feels his Adam's Apple bob against her nose. His right hand touches her left hand, forefinger and thumb finding the engagement ring on her hand and circling it around her finger.

It's been there for almost a month and he hasn't really stopped to take note of what it feels like on her hand.


	6. Ignorance

"Addie, what's wrong?" Derek asks with furrowed eyebrows as he steps into the bedroom. He got home five minutes ago and she was no where in sight, didn't bother to answer to his calls when he yelled for her, and now that he's narrowing to the last room in the house it's hitting him. Something must be wrong with her; he catches sight of her perched on the edge of the bathtub, thumb in her mouth as she nervously bites on her fingernail. "You didn't answer when I called for you."

"Yeah," she finally acknowledges his presence as he sits on the closed toilet lid, "I'm sorry. I'm just a little..."

"Dismissive?" He suggests.

"Preoccupied," she corrects. He pushes his palms into his knees and his elbow lock, eyes searching her face for some kind of clue as to what's happening.

Moments of silence pass between them before he reaches out for the hand near her mouth, "what's going on, honey? Talk to me."

"I'm just waiting," she answers truthfully. She isn't really elaborating, but he can see that her nerves are all over the place - it's starting to make him grow more and more concerned for her. He lifts his hand not grasping hers to her chin and tilts her gaze in his directon, eyebrows lifting on his forehead in an urge for her to continue. "I've been sitting here for half an hour trying to get the courage to find out if I'm...I'm..."

He watches her swallow but not manage words. He's completely confused. "If you're...?"

"If I'm pregnant," she finally finishes. She smiles apologetically and he can't figure out what she'd want to apologize for other than being human. The Addison Adrienne Forbes Montomgery-Shepard he knows would never be human. "But I just can't do it. I've been trying; I've been sitting here thinking about the possibilities. Like if I'm not pregnant how much it'll crush my hopes and how much I'll feel a ray of light inside of me die and how much our dream of having children will be put off, again. But then I start thinking about what if I am pregnant? What if we have a little baby and it's premature, or it's sick, or it's a boy-"

"I really love that you just listed all of these things like they're all bad," he says with a laugh, "when, really, we all know having a boy would be awesome."

"Either way, we're having a daughter or a gay son, but that isn't the point. The point is that there's so much planning and preparation for a baby, and even though our hearts and minds are prepared maybe our lives and our house isn't. Maybe we're just ... delusional. Maybe we don't know what we want," she says with a thin film of tears forming over her gaze.

"Maybe it's what we want," Derek challenges, "but maybe we're just allowing everything else to stand in the way of realizing that."

"God, Derek, I don't know anymore," Addison says. She lets her gaze turn from his to the area of the pregnancy test, hidden under towels and behind items on the counter that usually don't move from their place. She swallows and looks at him again, realizing that looking away from him just stirs more confliction for her. "I do want a baby. I'm just - what if I'm a bad mom? What if I'm Bizzy?"

("You don't have to go," Mark tells Teddy in the morning, "I mean, you can stay. You can throw your clothes on the floor and leave your hair dryer and straightener on the bathroom counter only to wonder later if you remembered to turn them off so the apartment doesn't burn down while you aren't home. You can refer to this as home in every day conversations."

"That isn't fair for you to say," she replies with a smile. He likes how she doesn't seem as tense when he's around her anymore, likes that somehow when they crossed the line she didn't run and he didn't want her to. She feels his fingers glide down her spine and it causes a shiver to skate to the ends of the hairs on her skin. "Besides, you're only saying that because I'm still naked in your bed."

"Maybe," he agrees; he smiles slightly, feeling her hand press against his chest and create some design he'll never depict on his skin, "or maybe I'm saying it because it looks right on you, because I'm starting to think if I don't get to do this again tomorrow that I'll be a little sad, and I don't think it's fair to take moments like this away from me."

"And what if-"

"Don't ask what if, ask why not. Ask why you couldn't just sleep here instead of going back to a place that's only a makeshift home."

"Probably because you'd never let me sleep," she replies playfully. He shrugs halfheartedly, pressing his fingertips into her skin so he doesn't forget the way she burns into his skin just in case she decides she doesn't belong as much as he thinks she does. She smiles and he thinks maybe he's going to get his way. "I like it here.")

He laughs a little as his fingers flutter over her ribs, his lips trailing over her neck as he settles between her legs. She laughs too, arms wrapping around his neck and her fingers entwining. The pad of her finger traces her engagement ring, still getting used to wearing it every moment she isn't in surgery. He nuzzles the hollows of her throat, her eyes drifting closed as she takes in his touch, lingering against her skin like it always has.

"You still want to marry me?" He asks, voice muffled by skin.

"Yes, baby," she answer softly without hesitation, "you're some kind of wonderful."

"No, you're amazing," he counters. His hand slides up her torso and disappears into her hair, his thumb lingering against her cheekbone - his rough fingertip smooth across her skin, prompting her nails to dig into his shoulders. He breathes against her skin, open mouth kisses sliding along her skin where her v-neck t-shirt cuts low to reveal her cleavage. "You're perfect and I'd be a fool not to marry you."

She quirks her eyebrow a little because although she hears the words he's saying, she thinks it sounds a little different - something that, as a doctor, she finds abnormal.

"Baby, are you okay?" She looks down at him, pushes up a little when she notices he isn't responding. He shakes a little against her, but she knows what's happening, so she doesn't move - feels herself panicking and doesn't know how to calm herself. Her hand presses against his chest, right over his heart, and she can feel it beat so hard she thinks it collides with her hand.

It only last for a moment, but when he stops moving like he can't stop it, he lightly shakes his head like he's trying to shake a lingering feeling off. He sits upright, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows as he grabs his head. He swallows and glances at her, "I think I'm going to be sick."

He barely makes it to the toilet but she's right behind him, hand on his bare back and rubbing circles. He coughs and grabs his head, the sharp pain digging just behind his eyes like something is trying to shovel them out of his head. His back hits the wall beside the toilet and he looks at her with his head tilted downward like he can't stand that her eyes are on him.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, "one second we're laughing, next thing I know I feel sick."

"God damnit, Mark," she growls. He's a little taken aback but her sudden change in attitude; usually, he'd get defensive, this time he's starting to think she may actually be on to something. "We aren't going to keep doing this thing anymore where you don't feel well and you push yourself to the limit. Now, get dressed because you're going to the hospital."

"But I'm-"

"Yeah, you're fine, I know, except you're not because you just had a seizure in my arms. You don't know how it feels for that to happen, you don't understand the panic and how it seems like everything in your world is stopping. So now, you're going to get dressed because you're going to the hospital," she says. He releases a breath of defeat, but it doesn't go without her having some guilt. She remembers the way he used to hold her when she'd wake up crying for no reason, and how he'd wake up when she'd twitch so she didn't wake herself up screaming - the way he used to take care of her so she didn't feel so fucked up anymore, and he won't let her. "I don't, I love you, baby, and I can't keep watching this happen to you."

"Can we go in a little bit?" He asks, his eyes start drifting closed, and she narrows her gaze in response. She lunges at him as he mutters a "I'm tired" and barely catches him from colliding with the floor.

("Hey," he grumbles, shaking her awake. It's the third night in a row that she's heeled him in the shin and waking him up. He can only assume that the screaming and crying comes next. "Wake up."

"Hm?" She asks. He doesn't think she even peels her eyes open, just rolls into him until she can feel his arms secured around her frame. He feels her body curl around his and leaves it alone for the moment.

She sleeps soundly for the rest of the night.)

"Come on, baby," she whispers. She slides her fingers along his open palm and pulls her knees up to her chest as she rests back in the chair. She wanted him to go to the hospital, but not in an ambulance - after he said he was tired, she couldn't get him awake again. It took her all of 3 minutes to call for the ambulance, to calm herself long enough to find her phone. The door opens and half a body steps through before she says, "is Derek Shepard here yet?"

"Uh, I haven't seen him," the intern says. She thinks she can hear him gulp like he's literally scared for his life.

"Could you call him again?" She asks. She pulls her hand from Mark's, dragging it through her hair because the exhaustion of the evening is beginning to wear on her. He hasn't woken in 3 hours, and she just wants for him to be okay but she knows it's unlikely, knows that what's been going on with him isn't normal. "He'd want to be here when the results from the MRI comes back."

"Yes, Doctor Altman." The intern turns on his heel and doesn't even bother advancing into the room.

She releases a breath, tired yet desperate for Mark to wake up or to make some kind of movement that makes her know he isn't in a coma. She looks at her engagement ring, watching the diamond pop from her finger, and thinks of what it represents. The way it makes her feel he wants to spend his life with her even if he can't necessarily tell her at the moment. She just wishes he would wake up so they can figure everything out, so there's a possibility it would be all right.

She leans forward and sweeps her fingers across his forehead and she puts her face by his, just to feel his breath against her skin. "You can't do this. You can't ask me to marry you and then get sick. I'm not leaving you, I'm not going to do it. Derek will be here, and when he gets here we're going to get everything taken care of."

"Hey," Derek says softly as he enters the room, "I tried to get here. I got caught on my way in and..."

She doesn't look at Derek, doesn't think she can handle seeing whatever look is on his face, but she knows that it can't be good. He picks up the chart at the end of the bed and starts looking through it as he moves over to the opposite of Mark as her, and she tries not to cry when she feels his eyes on her. She swallows the hard lump that has gathered in her throat and shifts her gaze to Derek.

"I don't know what to do," she says quietly.

"Me either," he replies, releasing a breath. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks back at his best friend's fiancée. He forces a tight smile, one he knows she won't believe. "I just know that he'll be fine. He's going to wake up. You should go home, get some rest."

"No," she insists, "I'm fine."

"Go-"

"I'm not leaving him," she repeats. She looks back at him, fingers trailing over his skin like maybe her touch alone could bring him back. She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear so the ends don't tickle at his skin anymore. "He didn't leave me."

"Okay," Derek concedes. He pretends not to feel a little jealous that he doesn't get to be the one at Mark's side anymore.


	7. Feel Good Drag

Mark drags his hand through her hair, fingertips heavy at the end of his palms as he slides his appendage down her face, and watches his hand seem to fall to her shoulder. He feels her shift beneath his touch and lift her head to look at him, tired eyes blinking in his direction as she tries to see him clearly. He offers her a small smile, an upward tug at the corner of his lip, and half expects the same; she doesn't respond the way he wants her to, receives an open hand to his forearm and he briefly wonders why he didn't see that coming.

"It's about time, you jerk," she grumbles.

"I know, I'm an idiot," he replies in defeat. He blinks, gives her the once over, notes how tired and disheveled she looks and immediately feels guilty for not giving in sooner. He starts to retract his hand from her shoulder, but she catches it before it can ever really leave her body. He swallows and feels his gaze tear away from hers so he doesn't have to look her in the eye anymore. "You didn't have to stay. You look worn out, just exhausted and like you don't know what's going on. I don't know what's going on, and it's killing me."

"That isn't funny, Mark," she replies deadpanned. He hadn't even considered his words before he said them and now he's hearing them, hearing what he said and what she might think. "You passed out in our bathroom and I barely caught you from smashing your head on the floor. That was five hours ago."

"You should have gone home, gotten some sleep," he replies, "I know it can't be comfortable to sleep in that chair."

"It isn't about comfort. Stop telling me that I should have left you because you know I was never going to," she counters. Sometimes, she wants to ring his neck because he's so oblivious to the obvious things around him without meaning to be. He always thinks he doesn't need to be taken care of when recent events have proven otherwise. "Whatever is going on with you just isn't normal, and if something was going to happen to you I was going to be here. If you had died and I wasn't here, I would hate myself."

"I'm not going to die," he says with a laugh.

"You might," she says, she pushes forward in her chair to get a little closer to him, "whatever has gotten into you is fairly drastic."

"That's doesn't mean anything, I'm not going to die," he says with a shrug. She stares at him, open mouthed, unable to form words. He squeezes her hand and drags her attention back to his face. "I promise. I just, I didn't want you to see me like this."

"I didn't want to see you like this," she agrees, "the lab got backed up and Derek should be getting your MRI results. He should have news for us pretty soon. He'll be so happy you woke up. He's been worried. He tried to get me to go home."

Mark smiles apologetically, tilting his head a little as he peels his hand from her grasp and spreads his arms open wide. She carefully crawls into the bed beside him, letting him wrap his arms around her as she tucks her head beneath his chin. She starts to feel like maybe things are looking up.

(He leans back in his chair at the coffee shop and watches her stir her cappuccino with her thin straw before licking the foam off. He's reminded of late nights and early mornings where that tongue proves it can perform some pretty hefty tricks and he can't bite back the grin he has when he peers at her. She looks up at him with pursed lips and notices the smug look on his face.

She throws the straw across the table at him and he barely ducks it. "Stop that."

"I love you," he replies.

"Excuse me?" She stops with cup halfway to her lips and kind of frowns like she heard him wrong.

He leans forward and pushes his elbows into the table. "You heard me. Don't do that thing where you pretend like you didn't hear me right when you really did."

"I have to go," she responds, checking her watch, "I'm going to be late."

"Don't go," he replies, slightly exasperated.

She stops before she gets up and concedes, "I'm just scared because I wasn't ready to fall in love, but I did."

"Very good," he replies with a smirk, "you may go now."

She gets up, nearly walks passed him before she stops beside him and presses her lips to his, quick and soft - the kind that lingers for hours - before continuing on to the hospital.)

"Addison," Derek says firmly, "I can't do this right now. I have to go back to the hospital."

"Derek, please don't just walk out. We need to talk about this. We need to-"

"Just stop, okay? This can wait," Derek says, tiredly. There are bags under Derek's eyes that Addison can't seem to shake, wants to convince him to stay in bed because he's being otherwise elusive. She wraps her hands around his forearm in an attempt to keep him from leaving and she nearly melts when he looks at her apologetically. "I came back home because I was going stir crazy just waiting."

"What's going on, Derek?" She questions. She realizes it's bigger than just a patient; it's something he's keeping from her because he knows she'll be affected by it. "Just tell me. I don't need you to protect me."

"It's Mark," he reveals. He lifts his hand and sweeps it through his hair, the wet locks falling back into their place on his head. All of these years that his hair has had its place and he thinks that'll never change, not for lack of trying. He swallows and she watches his Adam's apple bob in his throat; she notices the tears glazing his eyes. "Teddy had to call the ambulance at around 11 o'clock last night and she had me paged. We've been waiting on the results from radiology all morning but they're backed up."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have-"

"What could you have done?" He counters. He isn't hostile or annoyed, just sad and inquiring. He tries to apologize but he feels the words hung up in the back of his throat. He can't force himself to say he's sorry because he doesn't know what he'll be apologizing for. "He woke up around 3am, but we're still trying to find what's wrong. We'll have to release him by the end of the day if he doesn't show anymore symptoms."

"Derek," she whispers before he can leave. She thinks that maybe he's right; maybe what she was going to tell him can wait because it isn't the right time anymore. He turns on his heel in the doorway and looks at her, pursed lips. "I love you."

He nods and she thinks he probably grumbles a little before swallowing, forcing the words to fall from his lips: "I love you, too."

(He wraps his hand around her arm and pulls her back to him, her hands falling lazily against his chest. He grins and she laughs a little, an echo that bounces off of the walls of the bedroom, and he pushes his hand into her hair. Her head tilts a little, her hair swooping to one side and curtaining his hand, and she feels the cold air of the room surround her.

She purses her lips together, smacks them a little bit before her tongue slides over her bottom lip. "I'm scared," she admits.

"Of what?" He replies with sincerity.

"Of you, of this," she says, "of whatever is happening between us."

"What do you think is happening?" He questions, her hands sliding along his chest and her eyes trained on his. He likes how she doesn't look away, how she keeps her eyes on his like she can find the sincerity in them. He likes that about her, how she's both scared but brave at the same time. "What do you want to happen?"

She smiles slightly, lightly shakes her head. "I don't know anymore," she whispers. She leans forward and hovers her lips over his, the feel of his breath trailing over her lips. She swallows, feels his lips on hers even though they aren't touching, "but I know I can't stop whatever it is.")

"Baby," she grumbles, "I have to go to work."

"No," he half whines, "stay home with me. Don't leave me here. I'll go stir crazy."

"I've already missed 4 days and my surgeries are backed up. Staying home isn't good for me if I'm trying to become Head of Cardio," she reminds. His fingers wrap around her wrist and he leans back in the bed, tugging her along with him. She lightly shakes her head in an attempt to brush the hair out of her eyes, but is instead met with his hand pushing through her hair. "Mark, I can't."

"Stay," he replies, softly.

"Mark-"

"Please. What if something happens to me while you're gone?" He adds. Her lips twist a little because she realizes that he's actually worried that when he isn't with her something could actually happen to him and no one would know. She narrows her eyes at him, considers the fact that the chief of surgery actually told her to stay home. "What if-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you," she interrupts, "remember? You said that to me. Derek's going to figure out what's happening and we're going to fix this, all of us. You're not in this alone, baby."

"I know," he concedes, fingers circling around the back of her neck, "but I'll be alone if you leave. While the rest of you get to go on living your lives, working, and...everything, I'm home waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the possibility that I could get a headache, could get tired, could throw up, or could have a seizure. I don't think anyone understands the ramifications of what's happening to me - the prospect of sitting here and waiting for something to happen to me."

"Is that really how you feel?" She questions.

He doesn't nod, doesn't affirm, just sheepishly looks away like he should have shame for being scared to be alone. She lifts a hand and sweeps her fingertips across his forehead, her palm slowly coming to rest on her cheekbone. She narrows her eyes, feeling his fingers balance on her arm.

He swallows, carries his eyes to hers like they should have been there all along. "I just don't know what I'd do if you left me."

"That isn't going to happen," she replies.

(His lips scrape against her skin and his teeth nip at the bare necessities like he's trying to get her to cry out. He thinks it's only fair because she's had 3 phone calls vibrating from her cell phone on the nightstand and she's merely checked to see who it was before she ignored it. He's a little curious as to who is calling her in the quiet hours of the night, but refuses to question the way she presses her hips against his thigh.

She's been getting random phone calls lately, ones that she doesn't answer when he's around but possibly not at all, and ones that she seems a little disinterested when her phone goes off at random intervals. He feels her arch into his touch as she pushes a hand into his chest and slides down his front. He briefly feels her fingers loop around the waistband of his boxer-briefs and almost immediately takes his erection into her mouth; he snakes his hand in the direction of her lit screened cell phone.

His finger absently taps the buttons on her blackberry and shows 3 missed calls from some random phone number. He realizes that she knows exactly who it is and just as he's about to ask, she bobs the head of his penis in her throat and makes him intake a sharp breath. His fingers find her hair, nails pushing into her scalp.

"Shit," he mutters, feels his hips buck in response to the way her lips slide up his shaft.

He thinks he's about to - disentangles her lips from surrounding him and immediately tugs her upward. His lips meet hers, and he can feel her opening positioned over his hard on. He thinks whatever it is that's making her want him so much doesn't push away his insecurities, but he can't remember them when he's so deep inside of her that he can feel her uterus walls rubbing against the tip of his dick, forgetting to tell her that he's about to come.)

Derek pushes his hand through his hair as he looks at the scans, all of the results, every bit of paperwork, and he wishes it wasn't true - wishes he couldn't read what was happening to his best friend and business partner. He grumbles, stores all of the files away somewhere that he knows he shouldn't and finds his wife's number, not yet calling it. What he knows is that there's tears pricking the corners of his eyes and it's taking everything in him not to let them fall.

He's thankful his office door is closed. Wonders how he's supposed to make his legs work long enough to carry him from point A to point B.


	8. Set Down Your Glass

"Derek, you're awake. What's kept you at the hospital? Did you find anything out?" Addison asks as her husband comes into the kitchen. His hair is disheveled from a rough night of sleep and she hasn't seen him in nearly 72 hours because he's been running around like the world is coming to an end. As much as she has good news to deliver, she's beginning to think he has nothing but bad news. She forces a smile onto her face, the slightest bit of her white teeth showing, "I have something to tell you."

"You go first," Derek insists. He grabs a glass from the cabinet up top and reaches for the orange juice like he's on autopilot, and it prompts her to push her breakfast around the bowl - a grotesque oatmeal brand that her taste buds are yet to get used to. He refuses to look at her, refuses to meet her eyes like he's ashamed to hear good news in the midst of bad news. She opens her mouth but he lifts his hand quickly to protest, "Please. I'd hate to defile your good news with bad news. It would be nice to feel a sheer amount of happiness even if it is just for a minute."

"Okay," she says, reluctantly. She purses her lips together and drops her spook into the bowl, more than prepared to have a reason not to eat the disgusting meal anymore. She rubs her hands together like her food left crumbs behind and she thinks she hears him grumble sleepily a little. Her mouth hangs open because she doesn't really know how to find the words. "Are you okay? Because you seem really..."

"I'm," he starts, lightly shakes his head before he says anything else. He forces a smile, plugs his lips with the glass perched between them so he can take a sip. He swallows, absently wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, "more interested in hearing your news first."

She struggles a bit, finally catches his gaze and takes it as a bit of encouragement. She taps her knuckles on the countertop and finds it in herself to reach out and smooth her hand down his chest. His eyes train on hers and she can see the sadness in them - it makes her hesitate before she swallows, "I finally looked at it. After you left."

"And?" He asks. He doesn't sound hopeful, doesn't sound anything really, just expectant like he's more distant than he is present.

"It said I'm pregnant, said we're going to have a baby," she says. He looks at her, notes that he hasn't seen her so fragile in the last 5 years. She's just been primarily decisive and quite often infuriating.

He realizes he can't help the aggravated "great" that falls from his lips as he drags an exasperated hand through his black hair.

"Derek," she whines, her hands falling to her sides in annoyance.

"No, honey, I didn't mean it like that," he says, a sigh quickly following behind. He lifts his hand and lightly rubs her upper arm, head tilted down. He feels her knee skim his thigh a little. He swallows, "I just meant the timing is less than ideal."

"What changed?"

"Mark," Derek sighs, "has a brain tumor and it's too big for me to operate on."

(He tilts his head at the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand and forces a smile like he couldn't care less that it's nearly 4am and her phone is going off, let alone that he's still up. He thinks that he sees her half roll her eyes in the darkness but he can't really be sure, just feels his chest tightening a little as she feels his fingertips brush across her shoulder. She feels him swallow, his chest against her back and his arm draped over her waist.

"Answer it," he says.

She narrows her eyes and pulls her body flush from his, looking at him like he doesn't really understand. He thinks that maybe he doesn't. "I can't," she starts; she shakes her head and corrects herself, "I don't want to."

"It's just going to keep going off if you don't. That's - what? - the fifth time it's gone off since you've been home," he points out, "not to mention, it's nearly four in the morning."

"It isn't important. If it was, whoever it is would leave a message."

"I don't know if you just don't want to talk to whoever it is or if you don't want to know what they're calling about, but you know who it is. They're just going to keep calling until you answer. Whether it's once an hour or not, it's going to keep happening, and I was kind of hoping we could spend the only day I think we've ever had off together actually together," he admits. He feels her shift beneath his touch and he can't decide if it's her conceding and reaching for the phone or her trying to look at him pointedly, but he knows that the vibrating from the table is reverberating off of his ear drum and it tickles a little. "All I'm saying is that the constant vibrating is annoying and I kind of liked the idea of getting you all to myself for 24 hours."

"And you've had me," she says, trying not to leave room for argument, "I haven't been answering the phone and we've had sex like five times."

"Even so," he starts, "an hour from now, it's going to go off again and if it doesn't bother you, then it doesn't bother me."

"I'll just turn it off," she says. She shivers a little when she feels the pads of his fingers trail over her bare stomach, wondering slightly how in the hell he got her so comfortable with him to lay naked in a bed for hours on end. She lets her eyes drift closed beneath his touch, the way she feels him slide his hand down her thigh to her knee and then back near her center. "I told you how I feel about you, but that doesn't make me any less scared of this."

The vibrating on the nightstand comes to an excruciating halt and he realizes that whoever it was may have called two or three times that round. Her words echo in his brain, falling somewhere between the way his dick hops at the feel of her bare ass and the way she's scared that she loves him. "Being scared doesn't make it different, doesn't make it harder to understand that your legs tangle perfectly with mine or I fit perfectly between your thighs." His fingers slide around to the back of her thigh, hooking her leg over his waist, and he pushes into her with one fluid motion.

She doesn't object, feels her eyes roll into the back of her head as he leans forward and brushes his nose against her neck. She trembles a little, finds it more promising when his hand stays lingering on her thigh and he rolls his hips into hers. She feels his lips part a little, a rough, warm breath trailing over her lips, and she lets out a low guttural moan.

He swallows, flits his tongue over his lips. She feels herself arch into him, her body aching to feel a bit more of him, her fingers sliding around the back of his neck and divulging into the hair at his nape. "I'm scared, too," he whispers, "but I can't give this up. I can't forget the way it feels to be inside you, how your fingers idle on my skin when you're about to climax, that you swallow really hard before you whimper, and when my heart beats faster because you're near me."

"Mark," hitches in her throat, disappears somewhere between them as it's followed out with a gentle moan; "oh, baby, I love you."

Finally, he kisses her like that's what he's been waiting for all along, whispers promises of love against her skin and lets his tongue tap Morse code against her skin. He doesn't actually fully understand but knows better to question it any more, just pushes his fingers into her knee pit as she comes. The way her body trembles against him vibrates straight to his dick and he joins her in climax.

The next time her phone goes off, she answers, tells the caller that she can't talk because she's busy "having sex", but when she hangs up he grins a little and drops a light kiss against her lips before he corrects her: "we're not having sex, baby, we're making love.")

"I've been thinking," she starts. She dishes some messy concoction of vegetables onto a plate and he wonders why it isn't better finger food but he leans a little heavier against the countertop to watch her shift around the kitchen to set the plate in front of him.

He laughs a little, "uh oh, that sounds like a little bit of trouble."

"Shut up," she says with a laugh. She sits at the bar on the empty stool beside him, and lightly elbows him as he chuckles a little. She has to admit that maybe it isn't the best interest of what's happening but she can't help her mind wandering. She takes a bit, swallows to prolong the moment between them. "What if you aren't feeling well when we're supposed to get married?"

"We get married anyway," he answers with a shrug. He quirks an eyebrow when she doesn't say anything, just chews the green beans like they make more sense than anything else. He reaches over and lightly taps his fingertips against her thigh, her gaze playfully narrowing at him. He wonders if she's pretending that nothing bothers her for his sake, because of the brain tumor. "Look, I'm not saying it's going to be perfect or ideal, but it's going to happen."

"Baby, I just want to think that when I get married my husband would want to dance with me on our wedding day," she clarifies.

"Why wouldn't I want to do that?" He asks. He grins a little and leans closer to press his lips against hers before taking another bite. He realizes that he isn't making it a big deal, like maybe he'll be better by then, maybe there won't be complications anymore. It's nothing but complicated from here, he thinks. "I've been needy, I know, granted the fear of the unknown, but what we have is..."

He can't find the words. She supplies them for him, "revolutionary?"

"Yes," he says, with a small laugh at her word choice, "but I don't want things to stop happening just because of this."

She smiles slightly, turns her attention back to her food, and when the silence settles between them and she feels his fingers ease to her knee she realizes that he's yet to say it out loud. She glances at him, nearly drops her fork as her heart drops to her stomach, nearly stops beating in her chest because of the reality of the situation. She knows her eyes are glazed over but she doesn't think it's something she can conceal anymore. "You can call it what it is, you know?"

"I can't, okay?" He replies sharply. He's calm for a moment, just long enough that she can see his skin flush with anger and the vein throb at his temple, and he slams his fist down on the counter. The plate bounces a little, rotates on its rim for just a nanosecond, but she thinks time stopped long enough for her to notice. "I don't want things to stop happening because of me - to me. I just want to breathe again."

"You will," she assures. Her voice is shaky, she knows, and his eyes meet hers with just as much sadness in them.

"But instead I have to risk everything first?" He grumbles, "the possibility that you may walk away be damned and I can't do anything about it because I'm just a sick person."

"You don't have to think of yourself as sick," she replies.

His jaw tightens and, in one fell swoop, suddenly everything is scattered everywhere and the shattering of the porcelain plate litters the floor as the break echoes between them. She doesn't look away, doesn't falter, just watches carefully as he stands up and knocks the barstool over to pace angrily. His hands find his hair, his eyebrows knitted together and a tear sliding down his cheek.

"Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think my life is any less intertwined with yours now than it was before? Do you think that we've changed? Or the fact that I still want to marry you - do you think it changes that?"

"No," he whispers, "nothing changes;" his voice grows louder, "nothing changes but me."

"That isn't fair, Mark," she says, releasing a sigh, "you change, I change. That's the way this is, haven't you figured it out yet? You won't let me leave because you're so fucking afraid that something will happen to you, I mean, did you really think that we weren't going to change?"

("He's nothing," she insists. He's squirming a little but she's pretending not to notice. "He's just a guy."

"I'm just a guy," he points out, "and you have sex with me, share a bed with me, and tell me you love me."

"You're not just a guy," she refutes. She smiles a little, closes the space and leans her hip against his knee. He thinks she's getting a little more comfortable and he smiles, but he's reminded that there's a guy who's been calling her at all hours for the last week. "You're my boyfriend and no one else can take your place."

"And what makes me so special?" He pushes.

She feels his hand wrap around her waist and tug on her hipbone until she lands in his lap. She laughs a little. "You're you. You kept me from losing myself. You made me believe that life goes on. You're just you, and you're no one else."

"Oh, how you know exactly what to say," he teases.)

"You're not asleep, are you?" He asks. He isn't whispering like someone who's afraid of waking up the person he wants to talk to, really just breaking into the room like he needs her to be awake for him. He reaches over and taps his fingers against hers because their shoulder to shoulder and not quite looking at each other.

"Not exactly," she replies tiredly. He thinks he hears a yawn. "I want to be."

"Why can't you sleep?" He challenges.

"Thinking," she answers without a hitch. She hears his head shuffle on the pillow and feels his eyes on her. She swallows before she turns her head to meet his gaze with his own. "You?"

"Trying to stop thinking," he replies; he takes in a sharp breath, "I want this to work. I want to think that this is just about me and I don't need you to take care of me, but it isn't true. I need you."

"I need you, too, baby," she says. She angles her body towards his, reaches out and slides her hand across his torso before she pushes herself up to throw her leg over his waist. He quirks an eyebrow as she slides her hand up to his shoulders and feels the tip of her blonde strands tickle his skin. Her lips are mere inches from his and he can feel her breath ricocheting off of them; she adds, "and I want to take care of you."

He pushes his hand through her hair, lifts his shoulders up off of the bed and presses his lips to hers. There's a sense of sincerity between them with urgent undertones, the hurried way that he peels her low cut t-shirt off of her and tosses it somewhere, how his fingers get tangled in her hair and that she can feel his erection pushing into her inner thigh. He growls a little in her mouth, grumbles when her hips grind against his for a fleeting moment and groans at the feel of her engagement ring sliding through his hair.

"Make love to me," she requests.

He flips them over and settles between her legs as she lets out a small laugh, granting her request until she begs him to stop.


	9. World of Lines

Teddy's fingers absently drag through his hair and he isn't even sure that it's something that she thinks about anymore, just performs the action like it's second nature. Sometimes, he forgets how they got here, how it took the random appearance of Owen Hunt to get them to fall into this rhythmic pattern; the panic he felt that maybe she'd really been in love before and like she could walk away from him almost like they didn't matter. He offers her a lopsided smile when they briefly lock eyes and it makes her fingers drag along the base of his neck.

His eyes trace her jaw line, engraving the outline of her face deep into his brain so that he may never forget it, followed by the way the tips if her blonde hair falls freely against her skin, lightly tickling against it, before his eyes fall briefly on the exposed skin of her chest. He lifts his hand and reaches out to touch her flesh, pads of his fingers seeking out the feel of her creamy and warm skin, smooth from the mixture of soap and lotion. She tilts her head, quirking her eyebrow as he seems to forget that her eyes are on him, noting his movements like he's a child.

He thinks that sometimes it would be easier to just be one of those cheesy guys, the kind who says that he's thinking about all of the sensitive things he feels rather than the raunchy words that fall from his lips. Sometimes, he doesn't think and that's usually when the words just fall out of his mouth. He swallows, hard, the lump in his throat scraping his esophagus on the way down, and that's when he takes note of the way her eyes burn against his skin, warm from the heat her body creates as her back presses into his chest. He thinks that the way she traces his movements makes him oddly aware of the world they have, makes him wish they wouldn't have any intruders, makes him wonder what it would be like to keep her all to himself.

He remembers all of the reasons he'd asked her to marry him.

"Baby," she says, just above a whisper, "do you still want to marry me?"

"I can't imagine not wanting to anymore," he admits. He tucks his nose into the crevice of her neck, a bit ashamed by his admittance.

"What made you decide?".

"The way you never leave without a goodbye anymore. It made me think you were ready to marry me, like maybe I was doing something right," he says, "you make me feel like I'm doing something right.".

Her fingers glide through his hair as she shifts cautiously, her shoulder pressing into his sternum, and he almost feels a shiver skate up his spine. He doesn't know how to put into words what happens anymore, just knows that when it gets down to it he'd be lost without it. He thinks he can sum it up in terms less used by anyone outside of the medical world, existing only in heart beats and blood coursing through veins and languid breaths lingering in the air between them.

She swallows, wholeheartedly whispers through moist lips, "you are, you have been, baby. I just worry about you, want to take care of you, ache at the thought of not getting to have you anymore.".

"You should leave me, you know."

"I'm not, I won't. You don't get that I need us just as much as you do," she replies.

"I need us, but I may not be me anymore," he reasons. She sees the heartache in his eyes, arches her chest into his in response to close the space between them. His fingers tap against her hip as their lips meet, and she thinks maybe they can finally agree, maybe she can show him she loves him enough not to let it all go just because he's been diagnosed and she refuses not to do anything. "I do love you, baby, even if my brain won't let me, my heart always will."

("Owen?" She asks aloud, a tad bit bewildered at the sight of her redheaded Army buddy standing nonchalantly in the hallway, and she nearly stumbles when she falters in her step. She feels her chest tighten a little and her breath hitching in her throat, but she doesn't really let herself grasp for the slightest bit of desperation that she feels at his appearance. She watches him slowly turn on his heel and it makes her realize that her eyes aren't just deceiving her. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," he answers in his distinct accent. She can't remember the way he speaks, the words that fall out of his mouth are foreign to her. She wants to embrace it, but knows better than to think that she really can anymore. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"No hello? No phone calls? Just a random appearance like I owe you at least that? And you think everything is just going to be okay?" She laughs a little, ignoring his tilted head and narrowed eyes with eyebrows furrowed. "Go home, Owen. Your future wife is waiting."

She listens carefully for the disdain, but for the first time since she found out about Beth she doesn't hear it.

"I ended things with her," he admits, "I'm in love with someone else."

It takes her a moment to piece together who he's implying, but she takes a step back when she does. She can't believe he has the audacity to show up in New York City, her city - it belongs to her, not to him - months after she last saw him and attempts to tell her in a roundabout way that he loves her. Too late. Not after that night in the middle of the desert when they were stranded with an abandoned vehicle and nothing else for shelter; she had admitted she was falling in love with him and all he could say is that he was getting married.

"Well, congratulations, Owen. I'm in love with someone else, too," she retorts. She can see his shoulders slump, the way he seems taken off guard by her telling him that she's moved on. She feels guilty, like there shouldn't be a Mark, and tucks her hands away like there's something lingering on her finger worth hiding. "You're too late."

"You came back and have already fallen in love with someone? It hasn't taken you very long," he observes.

"So what? I'm a little damaged," she counters, "what do you want from me, Owen? For me to swarm in my own misery?"

"I thought I had a little more time," he admits. She can't handle his eyes on her, so she turns on her heel again and walks away.)

Addison doesn't like to think people are looking at her with pity, like they know her husband hasn't been home in almost 2 weeks because he's off saving the world. She doesn't like thinking that people are judgmental and mean when they think she isn't looking, isn't listening. Maybe she just doesn't like to think, doesn't want to believe that evils actually exist in the world.

She knows it isn't that simple - that when her husband was 9, his father got shot over a damn watch with his 5 year-old sister at his side, and that Bizzy was never quite a mother while iThe Captain/i was never quite a father. In all reality, they're families are pretty fucked up - the kind of messes that people typically try to avoid even at holidays; even though Derek grew up with a loving and capable mother, watching his father die in front of him made him damaged goods.

She hates to think of her husband like that, in the sense that he wants to believe good still exists in the world more than he actually believes it, and now, the only other man who has been constant in his life is dying. Addison sees the pressure her husband is under, sees that he wrestles with the prospect of his best friend dying while his life goes on and he becomes a father. Even though Addison gets it, she still doesn't.

She doesn't get the audacity he has not to come home at night, not to get that she's going through things too. She thinks he just doesn't understand that when she says she's pregnant that it indicates the world doesn't stop turning just because the demons they face as doctors every day is becoming a reality to one of them. She pretends not to sit up at night and think of the way things used to be - back when both pairs of eyes were trained on her exposed legs, they'd compete for her affection in a sense that she still believes Derek didn't notice, and they were maybe a little handsy as a set of three like they were couple. All of them. She still thinks Derek doesn't get it.

And, Derek probably doesn't.

Derek gets the best friend award, but the husband award lately has been dwindling until an almost screeching halt. She watches the man she has from afar as her stomach rattles and shakes with every day from the baby growing inside of her, while watching the man she could have had go from days that his smile is all teeth and all about another woman to days that he can barely manage to get out of bed. She thinks it's the irony of decisions, situations, because she chose the man who would take care of her rather than the man who wouldn't - the man who turned out needing to be taken care of. She always thought that when that day came he would pick her, need her, but it isn't her at all.

Not even a little bit.

Addison calls him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, and when he answers the phone she can hear him grumbling like he just woke up. When, of course he did because he's undergoing treatments and he's feeling tired. She laughs a little, sheepish from decisions she never really made; she observes, "I woke you. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"No, it's okay," Mark insists, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replies, a sad smile gracing her features like it can mask her teary eyes through the phone and he can actually see her. "Just a little lonely," she admits.

"Where's Derek?" She hears him venture. She thinks she can hear Teddy shuffling in the background, the sounds of silence settling between them. She imagines the way he would be, his fingers encased around Teddy's hip as he perches the phone between his ear and his shoulder because his hands are too busy squirming somewhere else. She swallows hard.

"He's still at the hospital," she admits.

"Why don't you come over?" He responds tiredly. She thinks she hears him bite back a yawn, the sound of Teddy's whispers colliding with her eardrum as her blonde friend's voice carries through the phone. She thinks she hears them shuffle, the sound of their bodies grinding together, and she feels like she'd be imposing but when she opens her mouth to say so she hears herself say: "okay".

("Owen," she acknowledges, voice laced with just a bit of venom, "what are you still doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you," he explains. She feels herself bite back some vomit as it rises from the bellows of her throat, a bitter taste of disgust weaseling into her mouth. She doesn't know what gives him the right to show up and tell her things that he should have said long ago rather than now when it's too late. "I've been waiting for you."

"God, Owen, you're such a pretentious asshole," she growls. He purses his lips in response but she doesn't allow him to voice any of his thoughts or opinions. She feels satisfaction at the realization that she is controlling whatever is between them now, no matter how much she'd wanted him once and pined for him, she wouldn't wish that on anyone else. "No use in waiting. I don't want for you what I felt."

"Teddy," Owen finally says, fingers hovering between them as he toys with the idea of reaching out to touch her. She doesn't give him any inclination to proceed, so instead he drops his hand to his side and releases a dejected sigh. Her heart is breaking for him all over again. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I was confused and...I'm not who I used to be."

"You don't seem to understand that I watched you change," she reminds him. He pushes his fingers into his hips and drops his gaze to the tile, a brisk of air whisking by her and making her hug herself as the sliding doors of the hospital open and close again. She shrugs, closes her eyes for just a moment as she lifts her hand to her forehead as if it will offer her just a second of relief. "But none of that matters anymore. I have a life here. You have a life somewhere else."

"My life could be-"

"Do not say it, Owen. Do not come here and repeatedly try to weasel into my life. It isn't that easy," she grumbles, "I have everything I need here. I have a job. I have someone who loves me. My brother is here - I have a place to live."

"Is it with him?" Owen ventures.

"You don't get to ask me that," she decides, "all that you get to know is that he loves me and I feel the same."

"But you-"

"Is everything okay here?" Mark asks, cutting in. He doesn't sneak in and stake claim, just angles his body in Owen's direction as he becomes the link in the space between them. He quirks his eyebrow and glances at the red head before offering Teddy a rather large smile. "This conversation seemed to be getting a little out of hand."

"Everything's fine here, Mark. I was taking care of it," she insists.

"Clearly," he replies with a bit of sarcasm, "even though I'm sure this conversation has been lovely, it's getting fairly late and we have some prearranged plans."

With that, Mark offers Owen an apologetic smile that could easily be mistaken for arrogance, and places his hand at the small of his girlfriend's back to lead her out of the hospital. He figures he could say something about men lurking around her work, waiting to catch her before she can leave her work, or he could just pretend like it doesn't bother him. She seems bothered enough, he observes, so instead he shrugs out of his jacket when he sees her shiver the wind in hopes that she will understand he's there when she's ready to talk.)

She rolls over, just a little, just enough to catch sight of red hair flowing all around the pillow beside her rather than the shoulders of her fiancée. She doesn't admit that with Mark on the couch (a matter of politeness that she thinks only he would have, that only he would insist that they sleep in his bed rather than making his best friend's wife sleep on the couch), she is feeling a bit panicked at how he's alone in a dark room and it isn't like he'll break or he's no longer capable of taking care of himself - it's that she feels a sense of obligation to make sure he stays safe. She doesn't feel obligated to him, by any means - she just doesn't think of it like that - she feels this insane need to just make sure he's still breathing on his own.

But, really, it isn't just about him. It's also about the fact that since she's been with him, she hasn't slept a night without him. And she means that, means that every night she lays down and he isn't beside her then she's tossing and turning, reverting to waking up in the middle of the night with a scream. Part of her is a little scared to wake Addison up like that, the other part of her just doesn't feel safe enough to fall asleep.

She releases an irritated breath, quietly and softly peeling the comforter off of her and sleeping out from beneath the sheets. She's careful not to shift the bed, or as careful as she can be, and hisses a little when her bare feet collide with the ice cold floor. She definitely thinks that if they ever move out of the apartment in mid-city New York, she wants a house with carpets. She doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about what she wants their house to look like, she just finds little things here and there that she would prefer.

She tiptoes out of the bedroom, quietly pulling the door shut behind her because she knows the apartment like the back of her hand. She didn't used to, she knows; she remembers what it was like to be a stranger, stumbling around in the darkness and fumbling with lights in all the wrong places until she finally figured out all of the tricks she thought she'd never remember. She can barely spot his frame in the darkness, his hand draped over the armrest like he's just too big for the furniture (and he really is, so she doesn't know what she's thinking).

"Mark," she whispers, dragging her fingertips along his forearm.

She sees him shuffle a little, peeling his eyes open and yawning as he looks up at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, baby," she replies quietly, and she thinks he really sees right through her. She thinks he's always seen right through her. She rounds the couch as she swallows, willing herself to tell him. "I can't sleep without you."

"Awe," he responds, like second nature. He rolls over a little in an attempt to make room for her on the couch and pushes the blanket up off of him as he widens his arms for her. He smiles arrogantly and she feels a bit sheepish because he was asleep. "Come 'ere, baby."

He reaches out for her hand and pulls her toward him, his fingertips warm on her skin and it makes her shiver. She lays down beside him, his arms immediately encircling her, and she already starts to feel a little bit better. She feels safer now even though the man taking care of her has more to fear than she does. She feels his nose slide over the back of her neck, his warm breath trickling down her spine and making her sink into his chest.

"I haven't been sleeping either," he adds after a few minutes of silence. He lifts his hand and sweeps her hair to the side to expose her neck, dropping a light and reassuring kiss against her skin. She shifts a little in his arms, her palm sliding over his forearm a his muscles flex beneath her fingertips, and she feels his breath skate over her jaw bone. She shivers against him, and he grins at the feel of her tingling beneath his fingertips. "It's different without you, and not the good kind."

"You're warm," she observes.

He laughs quietly into her skin, his eyes closing because he's finally comfortable, "keeping you warm is my job, baby."


	10. The Band Marches On

Addison swallows as she wipes at her face, hair splayed across the pillow and feeling entirely too comfortable for lying in someone else's bed, she's practically sure of it. She stretches as she reaches for her cell phone on the nightstand, determined to quiet the alarm, wondering if Derek even noticed that she wasn't at home. She feels her joints pop but for the most part her muscles are so relaxed that she wants to steal their bed for herself; she suddenly becomes aware that Teddy is not lying in the bed like when she had gone to sleep.

Tiredly, Addison scratches at her eyes and catches a glimpse through the blinds of just how bright the sun is and she almost immediately regrets opening her eyes. She finally looks at her phone, burrowing a little more under the covers to keep the cold air in the room from hitting her skin, and notices that she has a voicemail waiting. Her heart pounds a little bit faster as she toys with the idea of not listening, afraid to hear that all of the loneliness is something she deserves but afraid that she won't hear he noticed she wasn't in their bed.

Against her better judgment, she hits the call button to listen: "Hey, Addie, I got caught up at the hospital. I was trying to do some research for..." she hears a gulp, a stall in the air, "for Mark and I think I'm going to have Archer take a quick look, just for some reassurance, maybe a little bit of guidance. I will be home in like, half an hour..."

The beep sounds in her ear and she isn't sure rather she should feel relief, but when she looks at what time he called her she realizes that it wasn't too long ago. The vibration must have woken her up before her alarm so she was prepared when the alarm sounded, ready to turn it off before it could wake anyone else in the house up. But, if she's honest, she's beginning to wonder where Teddy is - hopes that everything is okay and they didn't just let her sleep through anything tragic.

She pushes herself out of bed, steps into her slippers and grabs the keys to her new little Prius that Derek had gotten her when they were brand new (you know, to attempt to save the earth and all). She slips out of the room quietly to catch sight of strands of blonde hair across the couch, Teddy's head tucked beneath Mark's chin. Addison immediately feels guilty for interrupting the moment between them, with Teddy's fingers lightly tracing his pec muscle and his fingertips grazing over her spine.

"Guys," Addison whispers while she tiptoes down the hallway, almost convinced that the moment won't be completely ruined if she's quiet and sneaks out as quickly as possible, "Derek called and he's on his way home. Thanks for...everything."

"Oh, hey," Teddy says, pushing herself up a little -

"No," Addison stops her from moving any further, "don't get up on my account. I'm just going to let myself out. Thanks again."

She doesn't let them say anything further before she slips out, hoping she'll be able to get her husband's attention at home if only for a few minutes.

("So, that was the guy, huh?" Mark ventures.

She snarls a little, hugs herself tighter even though she's wrapped up tightly in his jacket. "What do you mean ithe/i guy? There is no guy."

"Of course there's a guy," he retorts with a small laugh, "there's always a guy."

"Mark," she growls. He considers cowering a little but thinks it isn't worth it, because really he's just a guy who's feeling rather jealous at the moment when a random guy shows up to tell his girlfriend that he loves her. He swallows the lump in his throat as he meanders beside her, just a few steps behind her because she seems to be taking longer strides. "Wait...are you jealous?"

"No," he laugh a little nervously, realizing that maybe he had made it a bit obvious. His eyes seem to settle on her, making him remember everything that is worth being jealous about. He smirks when his gaze shifts further down, brain registering the definition in her leg muscles. He finally picks up his pace and synchronizes his step with hers, "listen, it's just a guy, right? What does it matter? But I don't have to like it when he hangs around intending to steal my girlfriend away."

"It isn't like that," she insists.

"Oh please, like you really ever thought a womanizer like me would change his ways," he counters. He half smiles in an attempt to convey that he doesn't really mean anything by his words beyond the normalcy of trying to belittle himself, something she's never really commented on, but he knows that she's never really been hard enough on him dwell on his words. He buries his hands deep into the pockets of his gray pants, "I don't imagine this life that you're not in it anymore and even though I don't deserve you, I don't plan on doing anything to make you want to leave me - to hurt you. Can you give that a chance?"

"I am giving that a chance," she replies, "and you really shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I can't help it. I'm just that kind of guy."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. You're more wonderful than you allow yourself to realize," she says with a smile. She slows outside of the restaurant that they're supposed to meet Derek and Addison and turns to look at him. He stops beside her, leans his shoulder against the brick wall as she loosens her grasp to not hold herself so tightly anymore. He feels a bit relieved when she reaches out and barely touches his wrist, her fingertips brushing over his skin so lightly that it makes him shiver. "You've saved me."

"No, no," he disagrees, "you're the one saving me."

With that, they both smile as he leans in to lightly press his lips into hers.)

"Derek," Addison says, barely above a whisper. She had intended to speak louder but she just wasn't able to find her voice, wasn't sure of how to approach him, how to find words that have started to no longer exist between them. Now, Addison doesn't know anymore; she doesn't know what he's thinking, what he wants, or how the hell she's possibly going to raise a baby alone if Derek changes, keeps distancing. "Where have you been?"

"I could ask you the same question," he snorts. He takes a sip of his amber liquid and she toys with the idea of knocking it out of his hand, wasting his precious scotch at his implecations. She doesn't want to think about what he's getting at, just wants to curl up into a ball and waste her own day away. Like venom, he adds, "you look like shit, Addison."

"Back at you, baby," she spats. His hair looks greasy and his face is unshaven, and really she feels bad for him but she also hates that he doesn't even get what's going on. She hates that he doesn't get just because time should stop because everything is different, she can't because regardless a baby will be coming whether they are prepared or not. "Derek, we can't keep doing this. We can't keep being in a marriage that we don't talk to each other. We are having a baby, a real life little being like we always wanted and it feels like you're bailing on me."

"Oh, come on, Addison," he replies with a roll of his eyes. He pushes himself forward off of the couch like he's ready to throw his glass somewhere against the wall and she involuntarily cringes like she's afraid her husband would ever dare lift a finger at her. He grunts, tired, stench of the sterile hospital mixed with the prudent smell of scotch lingering on his clothes and his breath and it makes her want to throw up. She bites back bile as he angrily puts his glass onto the coffee table. "You didn't want a child anyway, get rid of it for all I care."

"Derek? What are you saying?" Her voice trembles a little, body aching over a child she can't yet acknowledge but isn't ready to pretend never existed. She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she's suddenly aware of how vulnerable she's become with him, how she doesn't have to be pristine or perfect and he knows all of her scars (which truly aren't many). She's scared that he can have such a hold on her, afraid that he gives her so much that he's just going to take away all at once. She pushes again when he hesitates, "Derek! What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you don't want to raise a child with me, and I can't raise a child with you," he explains. He doesn't show remorse or hesitation, just like it's all beginning to make perfect sense to him and he realizes she'd be horrible to raise a child with because she will become Bizzy. She can't handle that idea; she lifts her hand and covers her mouth with long fingertips, lightly shaking her head in an attempt to refuse ever believing that he could say such a thing. He returns, jaw clenched and growling through his teeth, "get rid of it."

"Derek, don't do this. Derek, please," she begs, "please, Derek."

He's felt ignored, distant because no one has made him feel familiar lately; it's all been iDoctor Shepherd/i and surgeries and research. He isn't really a confident surgeon, knows that he makes mistakes, and sometimes his hands tremble in fear right before he slices a patient open. He still has much to learn, he knows, needs comfirmation for his doubt because he doubts quite often - he just needs a little more practice.

"You do what you want, Addie," he concedes, but not without anger. She wavers a little, swallows like she's drowning in her own saliva; she can't even breathe, doesn't know if her lungs are expanding under the weight of oxygen. He drags a shaky hand through his hair and it falls right back into place like it was never disturbed, and it takes everything in her not to second guess his words. "You're a big girl. Just don't expect me to be your doting husband anymore. I have more important things to do."

"More important than this marriage? Than this baby?"

"You're crazy, Addison. You're crazy to think this world is good enough to bring a child into. You're crazy to believe that in all of this heartache there can be something good out of it all." He lets his eyes briefly close, his face pale like he's going to throw up, and it makes her realize how much all of this has made his views on the world shift. He doesn't believe in love or life or God anymore and he doesn't even have to confirm that for her. His eyes open, meet hers again, and for just a moment she thinks she can see tears in his eyes; before it's over, he's going to break too. "If you have this baby, you're going to do it alone."

She doesn't believe him, doesn't believe that he really wants her to abort a child that is part of him, because he's far better than she is, all around better than her. He grew up with love and understanding and with room to make mistakes; she grew up with Bizzy and The Captain. Derek's a believer and he's just waivering in his faith - faith in life and love and maybe even God.

Even though she knows all of this, she can't keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks. This isn't the attention that she wanted.

(He feels her hands slide down his arms as she straddles his waist, a moment of soft and slow movements that seem to be at the same time. He feels her lips trail over his skin, her cheek sliding against his as her lips spread into a smile. He can't help but smile when she does, her breath trickling along his jawline like she lingers.

His fingers slide down her spine, feeling the material of her shirt disappear as his fingers trail against the exposed skin between her tank top and her mesh Army shorts. He finds it endearing when she puts on her old Army issued clothing, a lingering sense of who she was and who she is colliding in that exact moment. He feels her pull back, the feel of her body pressed against his no longer in the forefronts of his mind and replaced with her tired smile.

His fingers trail over the blonde hair on her shoulder, and he can feel her sigh a little as her eyes shift to the movements of his hand. He doesn't want anything from her, just wants to have her by him to know that he isn't going to lose her to some guy in an Army uniform, one who knows her like the back of his hand. There's a lot of things he knows about women, sex is important, but not enough to keep her around for good, just enough to keep her around for a while.

He knows that she needs something he can learn to give her, something that all women eventually need from someone no matter if she ever admits it or not. He leans upward, meets her halfway, and wraps his arms around her waist. In that moment, he knows he's going to marry her because he'd do anything to change for her, to give her what she needs.

"I love you," he says in a quiet voice, "I'd do anything for you. All you'd have to do is say the word."

"I know," she replies in a tired breath, "you're the only one who has ever taken care of me and I will never forget that."

He lightly presses his lips against hers, knowing that even if she were to leave him, she'd be there if he needed her so he'd never really lose her.)

iOh how I love thee, let me count the ways/i, she reads silently with a quiet laugh. She thinks it's cheesy, has always thought that quotes (stories, movies, the emotion itself) about love are rather ridiculous and takes with it all bits of reality. She doesn't think it's realistic that a sixteen year old could be so in love with a boy that when he kills himself she would kill herself too, she doesn't believe in the phrase "love conquers all". She just believes in life and luck and the happenstance of love accompanied all of the components that attribute to successful relationships.

She believes in communication and attachment and hard work because nothing anymore just is.

"That was Derek," Mark mutters as he walks into the living room. He almost looks a bit shell shocked like he'd heard something that he can't believe and she almost thinks she can spot the slightest hint of a smile but she knows that her eyes can be deceiving. She doesn't always consider what she sees to be the most reliable method of processing so she waits, waits for him to confirm or deny what she sees because she's still learning how to trust her sense of logic again when it's tied to the things she sees but mostly because her mind has betrayed her. "He wants me to go get a second opinion from Addison's brother."

"Can Derek not," she swallows, almost afraid to complete her sentence but knowing that she has to, "can he not do anything?"

"Derek's scared. He's an amazing surgeon but he's always been indifferent to the patients, or at least he thinks he has. He thinks he's never had an emotional connection to them going in, but, Derek," he trails off for a moment, setting his phone on the kitchen counter. If Mark were to admit it, he has big dreams and this is changing everything; he wants to quit pretending that he isn't worried that he won't make it, that he isn't scared that instead of getting married or buying a house or having kids there's a possibility that he'll end up in the ground too soon resulting to only existing in name and decaying bones. He releases a tired sigh; he's always tired nowadays; "he has an emotional connection to everyone. He just, he gets them, ya know?"

"I know, baby," she says, almost immediately.

She pushes herself to her feet and leaves the book on the couch, not ready to close the space between them but also not willing to make him think she's keeping her distance. He doesn't ask her to come any closer, just leans back against the counter and letting his eyes drop to the floor. She wonders if there's a middle ground, if she steps toward him if he's going to meet her half way.

"I've always been more attached to him than he is to me, but I just," he looks her, eyelids lined with tears threatening to fall, "now I need him. I need him to save my life."

"Our life," she corrects, and he smiles a little.


	11. Heart is A Beating Drum

Mark is sitting in Archer's office and he almost wishes Derek was with him so it would be easier to just confer right there on the spot, but he's still glad that it's his fiancée at his side. She sits back a little, doesn't try to be too involved or forceful because she's aware of how doctors make the worst patients and even it's even worse when they are part of the family. Part of him wants to see her lose her patience and attempt to control the situation because he knows - he knows that Derek and Addison are the impatient ones so they always pick up the slack. He knows one of them will break and then it will be the downfall of them all.

Archer comes back into the room and the whole room seems to tense up, makes Teddy lift her eyes from the book open in front of her. Mark's a little impressed with how much pretending she can do, not that he isn't doing the same. He just doesn't want their life to go on pretending anymore.

Archer's silence pushes Teddy to her feet, forces her to move to Mark's side like she needs to protect him. She starts, "Doctor Montgomery-"

"Please," Archer interrupts with a wide smile, "call me Archer."

"Archer," Mark says, eyes narrowing in Archer's direction like he knows exactly what the blonde is up to. He's known Archer a long time, the only man even slightly notorious for stealing Mark's girlfriends before he is done with them and this is usually how it starts. First Archer is charming and thoughtful, then he's a dirty thief. Voice gravely, "Cool it, man. I'm serious."

"What?" He replies somewhat defensively, "I'm not doing anything."

"Please, I know exactly what you're doing," Mark counters with the slightest bit of laughs, one that could be easily missed but she sees his jaw start to cock and she can tell just how angry he is. She slides her hand around his bicep in an attempt to interrupt him, to calm him down because one of the things that she hates more than anything is when he gets upset - especially now. But that doesn't stop him, "you take women away for sport and that's bullshit. You may have done it to me before because they didn't matter, but she's going to be my wife and I'm not going to sit back and just watch you steal her now."

"Doctor Montgomery," she interjects. She realizes that there's just no way to play it safe and finds her fingers absently sliding through Mark's hair as she forces a smile; she back to pretending. Maybe she's only pretending to be happy because she can't stand the idea that anyone would think she isn't. It wouldn't be fair for her to be unhappy because the man she wants to spend her life with is dying - and there it is, the nail in the coffin (quite possibly literally). "Do you think it's operable? Do you think we can keep it from getting any worse?"

"Listen, I'll look into it, okay?" Archer softens, suddenly remembering that Mark is someone who has been in his life for the last decade, "I'll get in touch with Derek and we'll talk - we will."

("I don't like him," Owen says, "he's a plastic surgeon, Teddy. Get real. He's too materialistic for you. Those things have never mattered to you."

"Shut up," she growls at him, "you don't even know him. You haven't bothered to try and know him. You've just been judging him because of his profession but have you ever wondered why he does it? Have you?"

"There's nothing heroic-"

"And what makes you so damn heroic, Owen? You think I feel like a hero? I don't, but what that man does," she pauses, lifts a hand to her forehead as she struggles to get away from this man in front of her. She just wants there to be distance between them; she never wants to see him again. "He changes people - he makes people feel better about themselves by giving them confidence, and you just walk in here and try to tear it all down. What that man does with his hands is so goddamn beautiful."

"Teddy," he replies softly, voice hanging in the air between them.

"No, Owen, I'm serious this time. I don't want to see you again.")

His alarm goes off, a piercing noise spreading throughout the room and making him grumble. He can't move, doesn't want to and doesn't think that anyone or anything could successfully make him if he tried. He feels Teddy stir beside him, the way her blonde hair tickles his skin as she curls into him. Her hand slides around his front, settles onto his stomach as her front presses into his back, and he tries to appreciate her body warmth.

He feels her lips trail between his shoulder blades, her breath skating along his spine, and he shudders a little as her foot slides between his legs. His hand shakes a little as he moves it down his front to meet hers, and it takes everything in him to keep his hand from feeling like a dead weight. He releases a languid breath, having no control of the way his lungs feel empty no matter how deep of a breath he takes.

"Are you okay?" She whispers like she's afraid to disturb the room.

He hisses into the darkness, wishing he were able to wake up like someone who wasn't sick rather than a constant worry throughout the night, but it's mostly his inability to let someone take care of him that has him feeling annoyed by her inquisition. He turns a little, her breasts pushing into his arm as he does, and he feels his muscles tense as his bones ache; he grits out a lie, "yeah, I'm fine. Just a little sore."

"I told you to slow down on your morning workout regimen. You don't need to lose all of your energy," she replies. He hates it, in that moment wants to hate her for her pity, for telling him what to do when he doesn't need anyone to put him on limitations. He doesn't know what kind of a man that makes him, to hate someone that he loves so much - to hate them for their desire to take care of him. She feels him grumble a little in his chest, (she thinks he sometimes forgets that she knows everything about cardio), and proceeds to pretend that what he thinks is silent complaints doesn't hurt her feelings just a little bit. "We want you better, not worse."

"Come on, Teddy, people go on living with brain tumors for months without any symptoms," he reasons. It seems to take everything out of him to counter though and his chest feels tight; he's almost instantly grateful that she's beside him to save him in case he were to go into cardiac arrest. He feels a small smile tug at the corners of his lips, one that is fleeting and mostly to himself. "I don't mean to sound like that."

"I know, you just won't let me take care of you," she replies softly. She offers him a slightly teasing smile and presses it against his skin, his back muscles flexing against her cheek and his stomach muscles flexing against her fingertips. She pushes her palm up his torso and when her fingertips tap against his jaw bone, he rolls over a bit more to look at her face. "I just want to keep you around, baby. I don't think I'd be happy if I lost you."

"What is happiness?" He asks aloud, almost unsure if it even really matters anymore.

She swallows, "it's the way your skin smells when I haven't been with you all day. The way you feel when I haven't been close to you for a while. It's the way you look at me like you don't notice anyone else. You are my happiness and if I didn't have you anymore after having you, I don't know what I'd do."

"I'm sure it would be really difficult at first, but you'd move on. Look at you," he mutters. He isn't jealous anymore because he doesn't worry he's going to lose her to someone else - he knows better now, knows that he doesn't deserve her and that all he's doing is making her life a living hell. He hates that he's ruining her life - wishes sometimes that he could set her free but knows that he couldn't because he'd probably die without her, literally. "You're amazing, beautiful, intelligent, heroic, everything anybody could ever want. Anybody would be an idiot to pass you by."

"I've been passed by plenty of times."

"I didn't. I didn't pass you by. I couldn't stop thinking about you even when you wanted me to. You couldn't have done anything to scare me away," he says with a small yet reassuring smile. He rolls onto his back, settling somewhere into the middle of the bed and not really caring about how much room he's taking up. He knows he's been in her space, suffocating her and taking all of her air like she doesn't deserve to breathe on her own; he never thought he'd be ithat/i guy. He releases a tired breath, let's his eyes fall away from hers like he's afraid to look at her, "but I'm scaring you away. I can't give you what you need anymore."

("What happened to your friend?"

"I told him I didn't want to see him," she replies. If he didn't know any better, he would think that she was a little heartbroken over the situation and he hates to see her like this. Even more than that, he would hate to find out it's true and she actually is. She shrugs absently, "it's no big deal, Mark. He was trying to intrude on something I don't want anyone else to be part of."

"Is that so?" He replies suggestively with a quirked eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Us," she replies cheekily, "I don't want to lose you, lose what we have, Mark. I love you."

"I think you said it without hesitation that time," he says with a grin, "I heartily approve."

"I thought you might," she whispers as she leans forward. She lightly rubs her nose against his as he smiles, the warmth from his mouth expertly touching her lips. She presses her lips against his and for the first time, she doesn't feel fear. He pushes her back against the arm of the couch and her legs slide around his waist. She pulls back and whispers against his lips, "you know why I like living with you?"

"Hm?" He mumbles into her neck, his tongue sweeping over the hollows of her collarbone.

"So I can be with you any time I want," she answers honestly.)

She's always been someone who considers the _iwhat ifs/i_. She's never been particularly fond of taking her time out to think about each and every possible outcome, but after Lillian died in 9/11 she can't help it. She visualizes the possibility of things going right or wrong or right with a bit of a twist or wrong with the possibility that it'll quickly go right or that just nothing is going to work out the way it should. She's never been a pessimist, really, she's just…prepared.

But, she hasn't really allowed herself to consider any other possibility in these circumstances other than everything will be all right.

In a sense, he saved her. Not figuratively or even literally, but through his patience and generosity and flat out determination, he saved her from herself. She doesn't know the person she would be today without him, and she thinks that maybe, without him, she would have returned back to the middle of the battle long ago. She wasn't really ever meant to be there, she knows this through trial and error but mostly because she's discovered all of the cracks in the pavement that she can fill the gaps. Mostly, she joined the Army as a revenge mechanism and not really to save lives. Saving lives just became a habit.

She's found herself watching him sleep lately and when she does finally fall asleep, it's light again (like when she was in Iraq) so she can hear his every movement. She checks his breathing, sometimes silently, almost always silently, but not just with her ears; she uses her hands as well, in the sense that she grazes her fingertips over his chest just make sure his heart is working as it should be. It always is, but that doesn't keep her from worrying.

She doesn't get much sleep these days. It's for multiple reasons, all having to do with the man she agreed to marry, but they all cloud her thoughts and penetrate her heart. Almost every night, she feels her heartache as she feels the tears prick the corners of her eyes. The tears though, they never fall – they just threaten to, they just make her eyes glassy long enough that her fingertips retract from his skin for fear that he might wake up to see her crying.

So far, he never does, but for the last two months everything has changed. Everything has been centered around the possibility that he doesn't get better, that he changes into this shell of a person that he used to be rather than who he's been since she realized just how in love with him she was – still is. She doesn't think that anyone does attribute her mental change to him, but no one knows what went on behind closed doors.

"Baby," she hears him croak, his worry evident in the sound of his voice. In reality, she knows that she thought too soon when she said that he never wakes up to see her near tears. He shifts a little in the bed, angling his body towards hers and sliding his hand along her skin as his fingernails catch in the crease of her elbow. He pushes himself up into the sitting position; "is everything all right?"

"Yeah," she replies breathlessly.

"Then why are you crying?" He absently scrubs at his face with his other hand before he leans forward a little to look her in the eye, coughing like oxygen went down the wrong tube. "It's because of me, isn't it?"

"It's not your fault," she replies softly.

He lifts a hand and pushes the imaginary hair out of her eyes, fingertips lightly brushing down her temple until they come to rest on her chin. He slowly tilts his head, like he's considering offering her some kind of gentle rebuttal, but his words fail to fall from his mouth when he feels her shiver a little beneath his fingertips. He leans towards her as he tilts her chin upwards, lightly touching his lips to hers.

Part of her isn't expecting it, the feel of his soft lips coming into contact with hers, and she thinks that maybe it's because it seems like lately it's been about everything else – but her fingers wrap around the back of his neck in response.

His lips part hers, his tongue expertly sliding in to the slight gap, and his fingertips dig in to her ribcage as he presses harder against her. He pulls back, breath trailing over her lips as his nose brushes over hers, and she becomes distinctly aware of the way his fingernails scratch against her stomach on their trail to her waistline. His fingers hook beneath the waistband of her incredibly short shorts and she thinks she hears herself intake a sharp breath, but she isn't too certain. There's a moment that the room stops moving and he breathes a little deeper than normal (she writes it off as a side effect of the brain tumor that is ever present in everything they do and every decision they make), but his fingertips skate down her thighs as he tugs at her bottom half of clothing.

Absently, like second nature, she returns the gesture and trails her hands down his bare chest to help him out of his boxers; just as slowly as everything stopped, everything started to move again at a speed that seemed to constrict her breathing as well. Straddling his waist, she sinks down onto him and releases a groan into his mouth as he captures her lips in his again. Her fingertips tap against his chest, hovering just over his heart, and she thinks she can tell his breath intake rapidly expel from his lungs.

"Baby," he whispers breathlessly. It's beginning to seem that way lately, that he's always breathless and it always takes everything in him to speak. She doesn't move, he doesn't move, even his fingertips still against her shoulder blades, and his breathing slacks for just a moment as he leans his forehead against her shoulder. _iInhale, exhale, ragged collision in the air between them./i_ He lifts his eyes back to hers, a slight glint from the moonlight bouncing off of his dilated pupils, and she feels his nails drag across her back suddenly before his thumb sweeps over her cheekbone. "You're crying."

"I know," she finally admits. Small tears creep down her cheeks, leaving tear stains that aren't even shadows in the darkness, but his rough fingertips scratch them away and leave her cheeks damp. Her hands slide up his stomach and slip beneath his so she can wipe her own tears away; he slides his hands into her hair and briefly kisses her again, thumb absently tracing her jaw line. Her own hand touches his cheek, her thumb sweeping over his cheekbone, and she offers him a slight smile – she adds in a whisper, "I just love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replies.

His hand trails down between them, index finger brushing over her clit just quick enough to tease her, and she releases a sigh against his cheek. She feels his lips tug upward against her skin as he fights a smirk and buries it into her collarbone. She drags her hand through his hair, engagement ring smoothing over his earlobe, and her hips roll when he repeats the motion – circular movements that entwine with sharp breaths.

He thrusts and her movements meet his, somehow; he releases a breath, teeth digging into her neck as he keeps moving against her. She feels his heart beat against his sternum and she breathes a sigh of relief while his fingertips dig into the small of her back. She feels the heat rising in her stomach, her chest tightening as he releases a rugged breath into her skin, and it makes her go over the edge with a string of moans that she doesn't know she's holding back. He quickly follows behind, sharp breathing between them, and his fingers slide into her hair as he drops another kiss against her lips.

He leans back on his elbow, smiling slightly at her; "I don't like to see you cry. I think it kills me a little bit when you do. I just want you to be happy. What can I do to make that happen?"

"Just give me you," she answers honestly.

He smiles, drops his eyes into the space between them as he pushes his hands into her stomach and leaves feather light touches along her skin. He nods slightly as he closes the space between them and presses his lips into hers. "You got it, babe."


	12. Fall to Pieces

She doesn't know how they got here, to this point that their house is an absolute mess with broken glass everywhere and her husband looks like an asshole; she thinks that she's never seen him be more of an asshole than he is in this moment. She's crying, sobbing really. She can barely hear his heavy breathing anymore, the way her husband cannot seem to control his temper anymore.

This isn't the version of Derek she remembers.

He hasn't touched her, hasn't come near her, but he's thrown a lot of things, broken a lot of things. She loves him more than anything in the world, would do anything that he asks her to, but she can't get rid of their child. For days, she's been not saying anything to him, afraid of what he might say to her because she can't handle it if he tells her to get rid of their child again.

"Addison," he finally says in the silence of the room; she can't bring herself to look at him, to give him the attention he's requesting, "I'm going to clean this up. You don't bother with it, I'll fix this."

Part of her wishes he was talking about them, about their marriage, about the way they fit together these days. She wishes she could erase all of the fighting, all of the days they go without talking, all of the ways they barely exist with one another anymore. She pretends not to feel his eyes on her, pretends that she can't feel his pity. His apologies are only just words now; she wonders what's happened to him.

"What's made you like this, Derek?" She asks. She didn't mean to ask, but when she hears the words come out of her mouth she immediately regrets it. She doesn't want to ask him questions, isn't sure that she's ready to hear his answers. All she knows is that he stops moving, hands on hips, and lifts sad eyes to her. "What's made you so…?"

"I can't save him, Addie," he finally says. He's losing his composure and fast. She pushes herself to her feet and crosses the room, careful to avoid broken lamps and shattered glass. Her fingers push into his jaw as she lifts his eyes to hers, a chance she's taking because she can't handle seeing her husband hurt. "There isn't anything that I can do to save him. He's going to die and there isn't anything I can do about it. I don't want to raise a child who will never know him. There's so much about him that we hate, but there's so much about him that we love."

"I know, Derek," she finally agrees, "he has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. He's the only person I've ever known who can love unconditionally. He's the only person who will drop everything he's doing at one phone call. He's so very human, but he's surprised us so much over the years."

"And he was going to get married. For the first time in his life he was a man," he adds. He's crying now and she hates it that he's crying; she attributes it to her hormones when she feels a tear slide down her cheek. Her thumb brushes along his cheek bone and he sniffs like he can't breathe anymore. "He was in love and he found a woman who he was right to and who loved him."

"You're talking about him like he's already gone," she says quietly.

A sob racks his body; "he's my best friend."

("What's going on?" He asks with a quirked eyebrow as he opens the front door. He shuts the door loudly behind him and laughs a little bit as he spots her behind the counter in the kitchen. The smell of whatever she's cooking hits his nose and he wonders if there's something that she isn't tell him. "What's the celebration?"

"No celebration," she replies with a smile.

"So, is this a special occasion that I'm missing then?" He laughs a little confused. He isn't sure if it's like some anniversary or something special because he can't remember. They've never really put names or dates on anything so it'd be easy for him to miss something. He swallows as he carefully approaches the direction of the kitchen, "whatever I missed I'll make up for it."

"You didn't miss anything," she replies with a laugh, "I'm just cooking. Am I not allowed to cook?"

"Sure, I mean, of course you can cook. I just wasn't really expecting it," he admits with a laugh. He sits on the bar stool at the counter and watches her move around the kitchen like an expert. If he's honest, she's never cooked since they've been together and she's never really been in this happy place. He wonders if she is now, if she's suddenly free of all of whatever was holding her back. "You've never cooked before. I didn't even know you could cook."

"I'm an excellent cook," she declares. She forks some of whatever she's cooking and cups below it so nothing drops onto the floor and offers him a bite. He takes a bite, swallows, and he can't even begin to describe the way it tastes. He just knows that he has no complaints. "What do you think?"

He smirks, "you never cease to amaze me.")

"Where are you going?" She mumbles into the pillow, somewhere into the darkness of the bedroom. She feels his fingertips touch her hair just before they slide against her cheek. She rolls over, her body touching his chest and keeping her from rolling right off of the bed. "It's too early. You're dressed, where are you going?"

"Derek and I are going golfing," he replies quietly.

"Oh yeah," she replies absently as she stretches, "are you sure that's the best idea?"

He sighs. Not in that annoyed way that he's been doing lately because she's been insanely protective over everything that he does, but more like because he's tired. She didn't remember them getting up so early to go golfing because it's been so long. She vaguely recalls a text message from Addison a few days before informing of how much Derek needed a day with Mark.

"Yes, baby. I feel great. I've felt a lot better lately," he replies with a small smile; it slides into a teasing grin, "besides, I'm going to be with my doctor. You don't have to worry about me."

"It's my job to worry about you, love," she replies innocently. She reaches out and lightly touches his face, fingertips lingering along his jaw bone. Her nails drag along his scruff, thumb hooking into the corner of his mouth as she attempts to trace his smile. She doesn't want to forget the way he smiles. "Besides, I like it better when you're in bed with me."

"Who knew you were so sweet this early in the morning?" He teases.

"Like you've ever had the chance to find out," she retorts. She pats his cheek, only just now noticing that he's crouched beside her. He smiles just a little bit wider at the feel of her fingers remaining on his face. "You usually stay in bed until the very last minute."

"Well, how about we start making some changes starting today?" He replies suggestively, "we'll make everything better. No matter what anyone else says, we're going to make the best out of it."

"What are you trying to say?" She asks with a small grin.

"I'm trying to say that I love you and I want to remember everything about you," he says. He offers her a sad smile with a slight tilt of the head. She thinks he knows what he's trying to say but she doesn't want to go there, doesn't want to think he's implying what he's implying. Everything has been all about his brain tumor. "I asked you to marry me, didn't I?"

He engages a question that she can't help but smile about, one that doesn't leave much room for her mind to wonder; "you sure did."

"You haven't changed your mind yet, have you?"

She laughs a little as he leans forward. His lips touch hers, lightly, but her fingers still thread into the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulls back and gives her a smile, sliding his fingertips along her skin. She shivers beneath his touch and it makes him attempt to tuck her in a little bit more.

"And I'm not going to," she adds once she yawns.

"Good. That makes me a pretty lucky guy," he replies, pushing himself to his feet, "get some more sleep."

("When she gets here, you have to be nice," he warns; he takes a quick glance around the entire table, not just leaving his gaze on Derek's mother, "all of you."

"Okay, Mark, I just don't understand how you've been together for six months and we've never met her," Amelia chimes in. He stares at her pointedly and Addison tries to keep her mouth shut. Amelia's always judgmental of the women Mark brings around, not that he ever really does or that they ever really last long; she catches Addison warning glances and lifts her hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. I'll be on my best behavior."

"Dinner's on Mark," Nancy supplies.

"You cannot expect a man to buy dinner for eight people when it's fifty dollars a person," Carolyn says.

"No," he says with a laugh, "it's fine. I'll buy as long as everyone is nice. Don't ask too many questions and do not say anything to embarrass me."

"Oh, please," Addison finally says, "like you can be embarrassed."

"Shut up, Addison. We like Teddy," Derek adds with a laugh. He does genuinely like Teddy, Mark knows that much, he just wonders how long Mark is going to keep up the façade that he's become a one woman man. He nods his head in appreciation at his best friend from across the long table. "I thought she was like, one of your closest friends."

"Definitely," Addison agrees.)

"Nice swing," he comments as Derek sends the ball flying. His friend smiles as he turns his head in Mark's direction and he likes the way it seems to be genuine rather than just an apologetic smile. He doesn't want to think that he's causing so many problems for Derek. He feels like his whole life has begun to center around not what he's doing, but around what's keeping him from doing anything. "You're really on your game today."

"You think?" Derek laughs a little as he lowers his club. He's noticed that Derek seems more like a person today than yesterday. He hates being the cause of everyone's distress, he knows that he is, but he tries to say that he can't help it. They're on the third hole and he's already feeling exhausted, but he's trying to keep his stride. "And here I've been thinking that I've been playing like shit."

"Nah, you're on your game. I'm playing like shit," he counters with a laugh. His chest tightens and he's just trying to breathe. He's been trying so hard to pretend for all of them that he's okay and that they're all going to be okay, so that they can go on living their lives. He's been trying so hard, but he isn't sure how much longer he can keep it up; already, he needs to take a break, needs to quit walking. "Did Archer ever call you?"

"Yeah," Derek replies, tensing up. He doesn't like the sight of that, the way that Derek stiffens at the first mention of anything serious. Derek drops his club into his bag on the back of the cart and leans against it. He smiles apologetically, back to that formality. "He doesn't know yet. He's still trying to figure something out. He doesn't know shit. He's just a neurologist."

Mark gets a small kick out of this because Derek's always had a love/hate relationship with Archer; "fair enough."

Derek tilts his head like he's dissatisfied that's all he can say about no one knowing if he's going to live. In a world whether he could live or die, he should probably consider everything from this point on. He releases a tired breath before he drops his gaze to the ground, leaning gently against his own golf club.

"Listen," he starts; Derek's attention settles on him fully, "if something happens to me, I need you to do me a favor or a few favors. First, I need you to make sure Teddy's okay. I need you to be sure that she doesn't forget how to sleep at night or breathe on her own. I need you to take care of her until she knows how to take care of herself. Secondly, I need you and Addison to have lots of kids. I know you both want to be successful, but you want kids together. You'll make great parents."

Derek lightly shakes his head in protest, but he doesn't allow his best friend to speak. He can see the tears in Derek's eyes and it makes him shift his gaze out on the field because he doesn't think he can handle seeing him cry. He releases a breath as the tears threaten to fall, and with voice shaky, he somehow finds the strength to go on.

"If I die, I need you to be strong. I need you to have the strength to bury me or cast my ashes into the ocean or whatever – whatever Teddy wants to do, but we haven't talked about it much. I won't let her talk about it much but I'm sure she's thought about it," he breathes heavily and looks at Derek again, "and that's her home too, okay? Make sure nobody makes her go anywhere, not unless she wants to."

"Yeah," Derek says, biting back the tears, "okay."

"I'm not going to lie," he adds with a small laugh, "that kind of took the wind out of me."

"Are you okay?"

"You might want to call an ambulance," he admits. Next thing he knows, everything seems to go black and he can faintly hear Derek yelling in the background. So much for feeling great when he woke up.

("I think they liked you," he says with a smirk. He knows that just because he heeds a warning, doesn't mean any of them were ever going to listen. Overall, dinner went well and no one caused any drama; she laughs a little at him. "No, I'm serious. They never meet any of my girlfriends because they are so, they ask a lot of personal questions and never really take interest. I think I even got a thumb up at one point."

"So, which did I need to be the most concerned with impressing?"

"All of them," he replies teasingly. He feels her fingers slide down his arm before they entwine with he's. He slightly wonders when they turned into these people who are so comfortable with each other. He never saw it coming, but he doesn't want to change it. "Amelia, probably, she can be the hardest to impress but she's also the most abrupt one, surprisingly."

"And you think I passed the test?" She asks with a smile.

He smiles and replies, "I think you aced it.")

"What in the hell happened?" Teddy growls. She isn't even all of the way around the corner and her voice is booming like she's trying to scare the life into someone. The entire room jumps like she has. "You two have been out there for three hours and he ends up in the damn hospital."

"Teddy," Derek replies; he's a bit calmer than she'd expected him to be given what Addison had told her earlier that week, "everything's going to be fine. He'll be fine. I'm going to make sure of it. You don't need to worry."

"No, what happened? He left this morning talking about how great he felt and that we didn't have anything to worry about," she counters, "I think I deserve some answers."

"It just happens sometimes. Some days you wake up and you're feeling great only to find out that you really aren't all that great. There's nothing any of us could have done about it," Derek explains.

She isn't satisfied with that answer. All she wants is to know how her fiancée ended up in the emergency room when he was supposed to be out golfing with his friend, with his doctor. She doesn't get it, doesn't understand what happened that brought them here.

"That's a load of bullshit, Derek, and you know it. I trusted you to take care of him and-"

"He's trusting me to take care of you," Derek interjects; she notices the way he seems to suddenly stand a little taller like he's challenging her, "but I don't like you very much right now. I'm taking him into surgery right now and we're going to get this thing."

"Suddenly, you can do it," she mocks with a laugh, "and how can I trust you now?"

"Because, Teddy, if he doesn't make it then my entire life is going to change, my kid will grow up never getting to know him and I am going to be a miserable parent, a miserable person without him," Derek says. His words are bordering quiet and loud. She gets it; she really does, because if he doesn't make it then her entire life is ruined too. He's brought her out of everything that was dark and she doesn't think she can stay out of a dark place without him. "You're going to have to trust me. I need you to trust me. If you won't trust me to do this, I don't think I can do it."

"Okay," she reluctantly relents, "okay, I trust you."


	13. Don't Hold Your Breath

She sits rather impatiently, waiting for Derek and Mark to get out of surgery, but at least Addison is beside her even if it is for the sake of her own sanity. She can't really be sure; she doesn't really know what's going on because she didn't get very many details. She would have appreciated so many more details than she'd received. Any kind of explanation as to how they've ended up there and waiting for Mark to get out of surgery.

"Do you think everything's going all right?" She finally asks Addison.

Addison drops her fingers from her forehead and lightly touches Teddy's shoulder. Addison has been rather good at consoling her, or not really saying anything. But it's been two hours and she's started freaking at a pretty frequent rate. She doesn't think she can handle any more silence.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Derek's a great surgeon," Addison offers.

She finds herself laughing a little before she takes the conversation any further; "are you only saying that because Derek's your husband or because he's operating on my fiancée?"

"Probably a little bit of both," Addison admits, "but my husband is completely capable of performing surgery. He has flaws everywhere except for in that OR. Mark is in good hands."

"I'm just worrying about nothing, right? Please tell me I'm worrying over nothing," Teddy pleads. Addison looks at her in a way that can only be determined as sympathetically and she knows that she has a right to worry. She hates that this has happened and that she wasn't anywhere near him when it did. "I mean, he's going to live, right?"

"Mark is a survivor," Addison attempts to console. Addison retracts her hand and twists her lips upwards into an almost reassuring smile. Teddy doesn't feel the intended comfort from it but she does find it to be a little bit of a distraction. "Listen, if there's anything that I know, it's that Derek can't live without Mark and he's going to do everything he can to keep Mark alive. If anyone can save him, it's Derek."

"We talked about getting married in October," she says, "you know Mark; he wouldn't really let me talk about anything other than the good things. Not even at prospective that it mattered all too much, on his bad days that he didn't feel like doing anything that he barely felt like breathing, we wouldn't talk about any of the negative outcomes. And then he woke up in the middle of the night last week and found me crying. He started to console me."

"He loves you, Teddy, more than anything in this world," Addison tells her.

She knows that he does, knows that she's never seen him look anywhere else, and knows that all he's cared about in all of this is her. She feels a tear slide down her cheek and she realizes that she's probably really close to losing it; she isn't ready to think the worst just yet. She wipes at her face to rid the tears and offers Addison a tight smile.

"I know that."

"We got it," Derek practically yells down the hallway at the sight of them, "we got all of it."

"Oh my god," she breathes out, the relief expelling from her chest. She has no idea what she would have done had anything have happened to him. She's mostly glad that she doesn't have to find out.

(She reaches out for him, her hands smoothing over the sheets only to find his side of the bed empty. It's rare that she wakes up and he isn't there, isn't asleep because he really likes his sleep. He's overly keen on sleeping until he absolutely can't anymore but he has a rare occasion that he wakes up brighter than the rest.

She hugs the sheet to her body to keep the cold air of the room from hitting her skin as she looks for some clothes to put on. She spots her panties on the floor at the foot of the bed before finding his shirt near it. Quickly, she slips out from beneath the sheets and pulls on the clothing before heading into the living room to find him.

"Mark? Is everything okay?"

She asks, hugging herself for warmth. She comes around the back of the couch after spotting him sitting there while watching television. She sits down beside him and curls into his side, almost as if second nature, and feels his arms automatically wrap around her. She thinks it's far warmer to have his arms around her than hugging herself.

"Yes, baby," he answers with a small, gentle laugh. Her legs slide over his lap and his hand immediately lands on her knee, sliding down to her ankle and back. He feels the goose bumps on her skin and reaches for a blanket. He tosses is over her legs and smiles as he presses his cheek against her forehead. "Everything's fine. Just too, happy, I guess, to sleep."

"You're too happy to sleep?" She repeats with a grin.

"It sounds stupid now that you say it," he teases. He wraps his arm around her waist and hugs him to her; he slides his hand up to her cheek and guides her mouth to his. He feels her arms squeeze at his torso as he deepens the kiss and she responds. There's no hesitation anymore and he's glad about that; she pulls back and their foreheads press together. "I'm just happy. My world is better with you in it.")

She sits beside his bed for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few months. She doesn't touch him because she's afraid to disturb him; he looks so peaceful. She's thankful, glad that Derek was able to get it all for multiple reasons.

Silently, she prays that he'll wake up soon. It's been hours since he got out of surgery and he still hasn't woken from the surgery. Pretty soon, they'll be putting a label to his sleep from recovery to coma. She doesn't think she can handle it.

Derek's pretending, she's noticed. Pretending that it isn't killing him that Mark still isn't awake. She hates that they are all pretending when they really don't have to; it's more exhausting to be pretending.

She knows that if he doesn't wake up soon, she's going to start rambling incoherent thoughts that don't make any sense. She's pretending too, she knows; pretending like everything is going to be okay when there's still a chance that it won't be. She's looking at bridal magazines because she can't bear the thought of not getting to marry him. She's reading him books he'd never care about and smiling like he's smiling back.

That's what the doctors always tell you, right? iThink positive./i

For hours she's been pretending that everything will be perfect and she can't pretend anymore. As the hours tick away so does her resolve. Her smile is fading, the magazines and books are losing their appeal, and the silence only sometimes interrupted by beeps is echoing in her head like a time bomb.

The tears are starting to fall, silently so he doesn't hear. It isn't like just because she's crying, he's going to wake up and tell her what he always does: idon't cry, baby, I've got you/i. She can't live with only remembering what it feels like for him to hold her tightly, to absently drag his hand through her hair, to press his lips against her temple, to let her cry and rant and lose every fiber of her being only to smile and tell her that she's perfect.

He's thrown compliments at her so high that she doesn't think any other man would ever compare in this lifetime.

"Baby," she says quietly as she sets the magazine down on the table, like she doesn't want to disturb the silence, "you can't leave me. I won't make it without you. I'll be just this shell of a person. I can't...without you. My entire future lies with you. My entire future is planned around having you in it. I need you to wake up. I need you to tell me everything is going to be okay."

She releases a tired breath, because she is. She's exhausted from the worry, from not sleeping since the moment he left, from feeling the frenzy and panic of everything that's happening. Her entire life went on pause the moment her pager went off, and she knew. She knew what the problem was even when she tried to pretend like she didn't.

She pushes herself upright from the chair and makes a bold choice to climb up on the bed with him. Carefully, she lays beside him because she doesn't want to break him; he'd be so mad at her for thinking of him as breakable. She threads her fingers with his as she curls into his side, lets her eyes close for good measure.

Being as close to him as she is, gives her a comfort that makes her believe she can pray with her eyes closed.

("Wake up," he whispers into her ear.

He slides his fingers up her arm so he can tuck her blonde hair behind her ear. His fingers absently tug at the neck of his shirt that's gracing her body to reveal a little bit more skin than he actually meant to. The moonlight reflects off of a ring on his left hand and he immediately stands upright. He doesn't remember going to sleep with that on and certainly didn't notice it while he was getting dressed.

It's like it's already engraved into his finger because he hadn't been able to feel it even. Everything looks the same, everything feels the same, but everything is different. Everything makes sense; nothing makes sense.

He's conflicted.

His "wife", as he only knows to call her now, slowly rolls over and rubs at her eyes. He's relieved to see that it's Teddy because, if he were honest, if it weren't he'd be out of there so fucking fast. He swallows in an attempt to gain his composure; his fingers are shaky and his mind can't quite wrap around what's going on.

He breathes a sigh of relief after a moment and crouches down beside her again, his fingers threading into her hair. He lightly presses his lips against her jaw to rouse her from sleep. Slowly, almost as though she didn't want it to stop, she reaches her hand up to slid into his hair; he can feel the corner of her mouth tug upward and lightly touch his lips. She seems a little taken aback by the contact and pulls away from him.

"What's wrong?"

She sits straight up, nearly knocking her head right into his chin, and lets her fingers trace his stubble like she's trying to be sure he's real. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as she stands on the edge of the bed like she's trying to put space between them. She looks panicked, like she can't breathe; he doesn't understand.

"Teddy, it's me," he says louder, capturing her hands in his, "it's just me."

"What are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be here," she replies, wide eyed, "you died. How are you here?"

"What do you mean I died?" He clarifies.

"You never woke up after your surgery and you died. How are you here? I don't understand."

"No," he replies defiantly. She nearly collapses but he catches her before she can hit the floor. He pushes his fingers into her cheek to make her look at him and hesitantly she complies. "I've got you, baby."

"I haven't heard you say that in two years," she says, nearly whimpering.

"Where's your ring? Are you leaving me?" He asks in a panic, "why'd you take is off?"

"I would never leave you, baby," she says, bottom lip quivering.

The sight before him nearly breaks his heart, does break his heart. He lets his eyes drift closed as his own vision glazes over. Her fingers push the hair off of his forehead before she closes the space between them, the feeling of her lips on his taking him by surprise. He can feel her whispering promises against his mouth, but he can't hear them.

The feeling of her silent tears sliding onto his cheek makes him realize how real this is; he hates himself.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.)

He gasps for breath and sits upright, arms flailing around until she panics right along beside him. She wraps her arms around his torso and his body tenses, wondering which reality is real. He breathes in deep as he feels her hand slide down his back, making rhythmic circles against his skin.

He coughs a little bit - not really for any reason, but more like just for good measure.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," he says quietly. He wraps his arms around her, just to be sure that he can still touch her, hopes that she won't shy away. He feels a pounding in his head, but it isn't the same as it was before, it's different, like his brain is trying to adjust. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" She asks with a small laugh. She's crying though, he can hear it in the way her voice shakes more than he can feel her wet cheeks against his. Her hands cup his face, the way her fingertips always seem to drag over his skin or through his hair making him close his eyes, and she lightly presses her lips against his. Mumbling, she adds: "you don't have to be sorry."

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again. I had a dream that I didn't make it, and it killed me because I left you. It broke my heart," he admits. It's easier to tell her things like that when he can't see her face. He hates saying things that leave him so open even though he knows that she'll never hurt him. "I'm not ready to leave you."

"I'm not ready to be without you," she admits. She smiles a little bit as he leans back on the bed; angling her body towards his, she rests her head on the pillow beside him. Her small smile slides into a grin and he knows she's up to something. "Derek got it all."

"What?" He croaks, eyebrows furrowing.

"He got the entire tumor. You're going to be okay," she repeats.

"Thank god," he breathes, "I can't handle anything like that again. I'm fragile."

"Oh, I bet you are," she teases. He hears her breathe easier when he chuckles a little like she wasn't expecting him to laugh a little. Slowly, he turns his head to look at her, her fingers brushing over his sideburn. "I didn't even know that word was in your vocabulary."

"Normally, it isn't," he counters, "I just like that you can't keep your hands off of me."

She laughs a little through her happy tears and lightly swats at his chest.

("Whatever you want, baby," he replies absently. He's too preoccupied with reading the newspaper, magazines, whatever's sitting in front of him to be bothered to look up. She's so close to slapping the shit out of him it isn't funny, that is if she could stop herself from laughing at him. "I trust your judgment."

"This is your house too, I'd really appreciate some input," she says.

"I've come up with what's really going to happen. I tell you which one I like and you go the other route," he replies with a laugh, "babe, I love you and I know better than to argue with you."

"Fair enough," she smirks.)

"Addie," Derek whispers into the darkness of their bedroom. He'd thought she'd be in bed by the time he got home because it's only 15 minutes short of 1am, but he's surprised when he sees candles glowing in the bathroom. He smiles as he leans against the doorframe to see her looking fairly relaxed in a bath full of bubbles. "Hey."

"Hey," she replies with a smile. She thinks he looks more relaxed, like not everything is as fucked up as it has been, and for that she's glad. She thinks he has nothing but good news; at least she hopes. She sits up a little straighter, the warm water sliding off of her skin. "You have good news?"

"I have great news," he says. He pushes off of the doorframe and proceeds further into the bathroom. He wipes at the edge of the bathtub to make sure that there's no excess water before he sits down. He reaches into the tub for her hand and pulls it to his mouth. "Mark woke up."

"That is great news," she agrees, "how is he feeling?"

"Teddy said that he called himself fragile, but then also said that he was basically just doing it for the attention," he says with a small laugh. She laughs a little with him and seems to be taken a little off guard when he presses his lips into her fingers. He releases a tired sigh. "I owe you an apology for my behavior, Addison. I can't wait to start a family with you."

"I know," she says softly. She guides his hand into the water and captures it between her hand and her stomach to press his palm into her torso. He smiles genuinely and she thinks she remembers what love is; she can't help it when she smiles too. "We're having a baby."

"It's going to be so damn beautiful," he says softly, "just like his mom."

Derek's right, this time.


	14. Kings and Queens

The bat cracks when it collides with the ball followed by the gripping sound of metal clanking as it bounces against the dirt and the spikes of cleats digging into the dirt as little legs take off to first base moving as quickly as they could carry him. Mark watches on as William takes off into a sprint, rounding the bases as his wife attempts to encourage Wendy to quit playing in the dirt and get the baseball to throw to her. When Teddy doesn't get a response, she laughs and picks the ball up off of the ground to throw to him as he lines up at the home plate. He catches the ball, a small ache in his hand as he does, reminds himself that his wife has a rather powerful throwing arm and he should probably acquire a glove before he breaks his hand with silly games.

Mark stands in front of the plate, ball in hand, as William charges at him with determination painted over his features and Mark laughs a little at the way William's tongue juts out ever so slightly at the side of his mouth as he runs. William slides into home plate, Mark's legs getting covered with dirt because he's wearing a pair of khaki, cargo shorts and the toe of William's cleat collides with his ankle as the kid bursts into a grin. William's laughter erupts between them as Mark playfully narrows his gaze and drops the ball to the ground.

"Sucker," he hears Teddy call from somewhere around the pitcher's mound and he looks up just long enough for William to touch home and stand up.

William starts brushing the dirt off of him and is caught off guard when Mark picks him up under the arms and swings him around. At six years old, William can be considered the best player in his little league on any given day, and on most days can put any one of them to shame. Derek runs in from center field as Addison lifts her gaze from her book, reading in the stands and he gets her attention by throwing his glove at the fence in front of her. She jumps a little and nearly loses her place in her book as she shrieks; her husband laughs at her.

There are times that even now, five years later, that Mark thinks back to a time when everything between all of them seemed to be falling apart. Although it wasn't necessarily his fault, he knows that it was driven because of the brain tumor - that there was a two week period where nothing seemed to make sense, when his wife almost wasn't his wife and his best friends almost split up and when he was being taken care of by his best friend's wife rather than the woman that he truly wanted to be his wife. But, then he has to remind himself that things didn't turn out like that and his wife is his wife and his best friends are still together with a six year old son and a four year old daughter.

Everything turned out right in the end instead of the mess they all could have been.

Mark and William laugh in unison as he sets the child back down on his feet and the kid practically sprints off in his little sister's direction the moment they hit the ground. Mark wanders somewhere in the direction that his wife is wandering and they meet in the middle, an urgency of closeness passing between them as his fingers slide over her ear lobe while he tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. He glances at Derek and Addison, out of the corner of his gaze catching sight of her being surprisingly sheepish and him grinning while he's standing behind her trying to teach her to hold a bat before the swing.

"Is it everything you ever imagined it would be?" Teddy finally asks.

He quirks his eyebrow and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as his eyes seek out Wendy for fear that she's long gone because he hasn't spotted her in a while. He's a bit relieved to see that she's still picking up handfuls of dirt and throwing it into the wind, red hair in pigtails on top of her head and the orange dirt blowing back into it. He pulls her closer by wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Yeah," he replies absently, "no, it's better. Much better than I ever could have imagined."

Suddenly, it starts raining and his wife starts laughing just as she always does. She never ceases to amaze him, never makes him do anything but smile or laugh even at the moments that he shouldn't. She slides her hands beneath his leather jacket and he's a sucker at the feel of her hands slipping beneath his t-shirt as she attempts just to drive him crazy like she always does.

He smirks as Wendy and William follow their parents lead in running towards the shelter beneath the tin roof. Wendy bursts into tears, hands outstretched in her mother's direction and Addison laughs a little in the distance as she pushes the hair out of her child's eyes before she picks the little girl up. His gaze shifts back towards his wife as his feet move a little, absently leading them in a small sway.

He's used to his wife making him linger in the rain every time that it starts to pour. Something about taking in the moments that they can linger in the rain; she's always been partial to when it rains, making him stand in the middle of it. He suspects it's because it didn't rain for five years while she was in the desert, but he's never bothered to ask because he already knows she's going to pull him out in it.

Derek and Addison used to look at them like they're crazy, now they just smile and snuggle up to their children.

He laughs a little bit as Wendy's wailing subsides and he pushes his fingers into the small of Teddy's back; "I've been thinking-"

"That's never good," she playfully interjects.

"I've been thinking that we should steal one of Derek and Addison's kids and make a run for it," he finishes once he's laughed a little. She quirks an eyebrow and it makes him wonder if she's for or against the idea of having a kid around all of the time. "Or, you know, we could just have one of our own. I can screw it up and you can fix all of my mistakes."

"Stop being so hard on yourself, I think any kid would be lucky to have you for a dad," she counters, lightly slapping his chest.

His eyebrows pop up on his forehead in question, "you think?"

"I do," she answers; she threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and presses her lips against his. Finally, they're right where everything seems to make sense - even if it is in the middle of a baseball field with their best friend's kids in the middle of the rain. "You're going to make a wonderful father."


End file.
